Dating Service
by lonaj
Summary: Story complete! 12&13 posted! The travails of Galactica's crew as they search for dates for a party. Revelations. The party.
1. Chapter 1

And I say there's beauty everywhere in the universe.  Look for it and you will always find it.  –  Jesus Martinez Kobol, Second Lord of Kobol.

A slender young man hung upside down from the overhead of the Battlestar Galactica's gymnasium.  Flexing and relaxing his lean muscles in a regular rhythm of curl-ups, he looked like a silk worm trying to climb back up its thread.  The effort and inverted blood flow reddened his face, and beads of sweat rolled through the fine, dark hair on his bare chest to drip off his heaving shoulders onto the deck.  Higher up, it had soaked into his only clothing, a stretchy Colonial Fleet standard-issue high-g athletic support.

The young man had more names and titles than a Caprican high society debutante.  Back when there'd been a Fleet Headquarters, before the Cylon's devastating attack on the Twelve Colonies, he'd been carried on the rolls as Captain Lee Adama, but the wireless operators always called him Apollo.  When the Galactica's Commander addressed him as family and not as a subordinate, he called him "son."  The other Viper pilots called Lee "sir" to his face and "Iron Prick," "Apple-ass-ollo" and other less imaginative names behind his back.  A few of them even called him "a damned fine CAG."

The young man and a pertly elfin blonde woman in a shiny green flight suit with a "Viper" patch on one shoulder and a "Galactica" one on the other were the only people in the gymnasium.  It was oh-three hundred of what Colonial President Laura Roslin had designated New Earth Mean Time in order to avoid inter-colony favoritism and to keep them all focused on their goal.  Their fifty thousand plus war refugees had been space wanderers only a week and a half, not long enough to abandon the concept of day and night, and they still preferred to sleep the small numbered hours.  For the Galactica's crew it was merely mid third-watch.

The young woman had been listening to Lee quietly counting to himself as he bent and unbent.  "Five, six, seven."  He paused for a moment and asked, "Enjoying the view?"

"You bet.  Enormously," the blonde woman finally said, disappointed that she'd been found out so quickly.  "I've always said you have the biggest balls in the Fleet."  It was hard to sneaky-Pete someone in the old capital ship.  In the larger compartments like the gymnasium, the metal decks and bulkheads rang like bells.  And only the burly Marine guards outside CIC, the Commander's quarters and the Presidential office in the wardroom could pull open a meter-and-half wide hatch without a grunt and a heave to go with the typical volley of metallic squeaks.

It had been the mirrors, the young woman decided.  Lee had seen her sneaking in.  The perfectly polished metal walls reflected each other endlessly, tunneling off into space in four directions, from her angle showing hundreds of nearly naked Lee Adamas.  Nice.

Lee managed a glance and grin at the young woman but didn't stop.  Her name was Lieutenant Kara Thrace and she was Lee's best and perhaps only friend.  Besides "Kara" and "Thrace," she had one more name she used for flying Vipers, "Starbuck," which meant a winning hand in cards.  No one had called her "daughter" or "sweetheart" for years.  And the other pilots always called her something respectful if they didn't want a black eye or broken nose.

A flight suit lay in an untidy pile on a nearby exercise bench next to a short stack of folded knit shirts, trousers, and socks.  A pair of rubber-soled ship shoes rested on the floor.  Nudity was out of character for Lee.  He packed habitual reserve around like most pilots packed a signal pistol.  "So, gym gear in the laundry?"

"Don't have any," Lee gasped between one curl and the next.  Fleet Headquarters would never assign a son to his father's command.  He'd been on the Galactica for only a one-day ceremony when the Cylons had attacked the Colonies.  He'd brought a dress uniform and little else and had been issued basic gear out of ship's stores.  "Was hoping I'd have . . . " curl up, curl down, " . . . the place to myself."  Lee paused and shook his head.  Sweat flew and spattered on the floor.  Shifting his feet a little so he could see Kara standing just inside the hatch, he continued, "Could you hand me that pair of weights over there?  No, no, the half-k's.  Thanks." He took them from her hands.  "Just coming off duty?"

"Yeah.  You assigned me the Kobol Dream pressure check, remember?"  Handing Lee the weights had brought Kara closer to him.  Bending back until her short blonde haircut almost brushed the flight suit's puffy collar, Kara looked up past Lee's heaving body, trying to see his feet.  "What's keeping you up there anyway?"

Instead of answering, Lee did two more curl ups, probably just to prove to himself that he could, tossed the weights past Kara in the general direction of the equipment rack, then with practiced sliding steps, walked across the ceiling to where he could grasp a pair of parallel bars set about a meter and a half off the ground.  Pulling free first heels, then arches and finally toes, he swung through the bars down to the deck and landed in a crouch, arms outspread.

From where Kara stood behind Lee, the scenery had been spectacular, but she tore her eyes away to look down at his thick-soled metallic boots.  Lee slapped the sides of the boots, the tops demagnetized and uncurled, and he stepped out.  "Oh, I see.  Scrounged some E.V.A. boots.  Cool."

"So how's the old Dream coming along?  She 'bout ready to go catch us some water?" Lee asked as he grabbed a gray towel from the unwashed pile in the corner.  Water had been restricted to drinking and basic sanitation.  Despite daily sprays of disinfectant, the gym smelled like a major league Pyramid locker room.  Crew quarters smelled almost as bad.  Lee tried not to think about it as he rubbed down.

"Tyrol says oh-nine hundred, but their fat ass commander says noon.  I think your Dad's about ready to knock him into the next quadrant."

Kara had a bad case of helmet hair.  Oily, unwashed blonde strands lay forlornly tight on her head.  Her arms had folded across her chest and her eyes kept flicking around the compartment, looking at the empty towel shelves, the exercise benches, the endless parade of Lees and Karas in the polished walls.  She looked uncomfortable in her skin, and it wasn't just the profound need of a shower.  "Uh, Lee.  I got a question.  You can tell me I'm a booster short of orbit, but I promised the . . . I said I'd ask."

Lee sat down on a bench a half-meter away and began pulling on his pants.  When he stood to zip up, Kara's eyes drifted down.  "Kara," Lee said and with two fingers of one hand pointed at his eyes, "up here, Kara.  Eyes up here."

Kara snorted and grinned but looked back up.  Lee turned to grab his knit shirts.  "Let me guess, the pilots want to know about the gunship."

The need for an FTL-capable Colonial scout ship that was bigger and better armed than a Raptor had become apparent almost immediately after the first jump away from the Ragnar ammunition depot and into the Prolmar sector.  Today the Kobol Dream would be flying unarmed and unprotected on her water foraging expedition so Lee didn't blame her Commander for being hesitant to leave.  He'd been a brave man to volunteer.  But the Dream's mission would be only the first of many jumps away from the fleet's direct Earth-bound route to look for food, fuel or water.

Behind Lee's back, Kara said, "Yeah, yeah, the gunship.  You know, you're spooky sometimes."

"I've been hearing the scuttlebutt too."  Slipping into his shoes, Lee picked up his flight suit (he was still too hot to put it on) and turned towards the hatch.  "Walk me to the wardroom and I'll tell you what I know."

Out in the empty side passageway, Lee began, "I've only been invited to one of the meetings, but the way I get it, Dad wanted to conscript the Tall Doll, 'cause she's got gun mounts and her commander's ex-Fleet.  President Roslin thinks if we start snatching private property, the commanders, especially the owner/operators, will feel the Galactica's as big a threat as the Cylons and scatter.  So . . . "

"So?"

Lee laughed.  Kara was going to love this.  "So when the Dream gets back from her water run, we're going to throw a party and see how many of 'em we can talk into voluntarily putting on Fleet colors."

Kara's funny bone had indeed been tickled.  She skipped a step.  "A party?  You're kidding, right?"

Lee shook his head, feeling as silly as Kara.  It was nice to have something to laugh about after all the loss, loneliness and surly subordinates he'd put up with the last few weeks.  "Could this face lie to you?"

"You're not kidding?  Let me guess, it's going to be hot tub party so everyone can scrub down."

That brought a full laugh out of Lee.  "No, the President wants it semi-formal, ladies in evening dresses, men in evening wear or dress uniform.  Something like that.  I think she's got something up her sleeve.  Maybe she'll finally give Dad his double rocket."  Double rockets were admiral's insignia.

They'd reached the door to the wardroom.  Lee stopped and turned to face Kara.  "That brings me to a favor that I've been meaning to ask."

Kara's lips twisted and she snorted.  "Here it comes, always the catch.  Who do you want me to beat up, boss man?"

"No one, you idiot.  It's just that the President has asked me to be at this marvelous party . . . with a date.  I was wondering if you'd like to go?"  Suddenly Lee's heart thundered.

For a long beat, Kara froze.  She finally came out of it to say, "Something tells me that beating up someone would be easier, but, okay, if you need a date, I'm game."

"Great!  That's great."  The air had become very thick for breathing.  Lee turned towards the wardroom door trying to act normal.  "Going to breakfast?"

"Nah, think I'll turn in.  Thanks for the scoop.  I can pass it on, right?"

"It's probably going to be posted in the morning or evening news broadcast, so no big secret.  Sleep tight."

"You bet, Lee.  Have a good day."

Lee watched Kara walk away down the passage.  That hadn't been as hard as he'd expected.  Of course, she could still change her mind.  In the meantime he had to eat and outline the new duty roster before his patrol began at oh-seven hundred.

Another day of exile and exodus had begun.

:w:o:w:o:w:o:w:o:w:o:w:

If I chance to talk a little wild, forgive me;  
I had it from my father.  (Shakespeare, The Tempest, Act I, Scene iv, line 26)

Okay, I admit it.  I live for your reviews.  Even though writing is great fun, it's wonderful to know that someone else enjoys it.  Please, please, please, use the review button below to tell me what you think.


	2. Chapter 2

Don't fool yourselves.  Diversity may bring turmoil, but uniformity seldom brings peace.  – William Lester Kobol, First Lord of Kobol

"So, here's what I came up with," the portly bureaucrat said, with a nod toward the long narrow Battlestar Galactica printout President Roslin held.  "12,377 Capricans, they're the biggest group.  We expected that since we were mostly picking up ships from Caprican space.  Then we have 6,216 Geminons, 5,088 Taurans, 4,203 Aerians, 3,825 Virgans, 2,790 Librans, 5,080 Picons, 2,642 Aquarions, 4,912 Scorpons, and 2,378 Sagitarrons.  After that it gets bad.  There's less than a thousand combined from far Canceron and Leonid."

Madame President sighed.  "Those small gene pools will create problems when we start rebuilding the twelve colonies.  We may have to consider some eugenics laws.  But your list doesn't include the Commander's military personnel, right?"

"What's this 'other' down here at the bottom?"  William 'Husher' Adama broke in.  Adama was commander of the Twelve Colonies' last battlestar the Galactica and presumably the highest-ranking human military officer in the known universe.  He and Madam President were the only two people in the whole fleet that knew where they were actually going.  The story Adama fed everyone was that they were bound for a lost colony called Earth.  The truth was that they were simply running.

He'd been having trouble focusing on the bureaucrat's parade of numbers, but the last line on his copy of the printout said, "Other – 30."  Now what the hell could "other" be?

The pen pusher, Adama thought his name was Blanchard or Orchard or something close and that he'd been among the educational officials at the Galactica's decommissioning ceremony, ignored the commander's question and said to President Roslin, "That's right, ma'am.  Their clerk tells me the crew's about ninety percent native Caprican, the rest from all over."  He glanced down at his list.  "Two thousand and fifty-three, all told, if their numbers are right."

Jerry's bulk gave him a deep, resonant voice very much like Adama's.  It was the only point of similarity between the two men.

Jerry also had a pronounced body odor, although that was pretty much true for all of them.  Their current water shortage was rapidly revising personal hygiene standards.

Adama wished he could space the bureaucrats with the rest of the trash.  He fired an irritated look down table to his executive officer, Colonel Paul 'Solomon' Tigh.  Adama usually called him Saul.  Saul looked as ticked off as Adama felt.

Over by the wardroom's entry hatch, Chiefs Tyrol and Suben had been cooling their heels for fifteen minutes.  They had a fleet readiness evaluation to deliver.  While the two chiefs were here, work waited somewhere else.  Adama hated meetings, especially ones where everyone could use a bath.

The President leaned forward.  "Jerry, tell us about that listing down at the bottom, please.  I'd like to know what 'other' means too."  She looked as gray as a rainy day.  The usually fine laugh lines at the corners of her eyes had turned to deep tight cuts.  Her cancer must be chewing her hard today, Adama thought.  Although she'd promised to start treatment, it hadn't happened yet.  Only President Roslin stood between Adama and a load of responsibility that made his battlestar command look like a Sunday afternoon trip to the Moon and back.  It kept him awake every night.

Turning to her left, the President whispered something to her tall young aide, Billy Keikeya, who immediately arose and trotted out of the wardroom.

After an irritated glare at the table's two military officers, Jerry picked up a short piece of printout from his pile on the table.  "Well, there are thirty of them as the list says.  Three are space-born Colonials claiming dual citizenship Caprican/Geminon.  The biggest group is on the Gravity Well, twenty emigrants from the Sagitarrian/Tauron joint colony on Lippnor that folded last month.  They were on their way back and hadn't decided which planet to call home.  Still have a nice collection of livestock, by the way.  Goats, pigs, chickens.  Some seed and grain too."

Jerry had started warming to his details.  A professional number cruncher, at the President's behest he'd spent the last eight days surveying their flotilla of fifty odd ships.  He probably knew more about the refugees' exact social condition than anyone else in the compartment.  It didn't, however, make him a likeable person.  Even in the cool air beads of sweat stood on Jerry's bulging forehead, and with every shift in ventilation his body odor multiplied.  Adama had been considering offering Jerry the use of Galactica's gymnasium – the man desperately needed to exercise -- but changed his mind.  It would keep the bureaucrat under foot even more.

"On the Jump Gap, I found five abandoned children too young and shook up to even remember their names let alone their home planet.  I took them back to the Lippnors.  They're a religious sect.  Plain people, you know.  Took the kids in just like that."  Jerry snapped his fingers to show the immediacy of the adoption.

"Uh, the other two people were both in comas on the Colossus, no papers.  Looked like maybe a brother and sister or husband and wife, the same race and about the same age.  They're probably dead by now."  Jerry put down his printout.

Over by the hatch, Billy Keikeya had returned.  A graceful mature dark-skinned woman, the Kobol Priest Elosha, followed him in.  They sat down next to Tyrol and Suben who obligingly scooted over.  Tyrol immediately began to engage the priest in low conversation, probably about the letter of request Adama had on his desk.  Tyrol was asking to marry one of the newer j.g.'s, the Raptor pilot that had come to Ragnar with Lee, Valerii.  Adama hadn't yet decided what to do.  Perhaps he ought to talk to the priest as well.

President Roslin started to thank Jerry for his efforts, but the round-bodied bureaucrat had one more factoid to offer.  "I just thought you ought to know, ma'am.  I ran into Garner Graham on the Star Chaser."

"Garner Graham, G. G. of the Caprican Graham conglomerate?  Oh wow."  Through her fatigue, Madame President looked surprised.  She should be.  Even Adama who had spent almost his whole life off-planet had heard of the Grahams.  "Well, his money can't buy him Senate seats any more, but thanks for letting me know."

As Jerry rose to leave, Billy gestured to Mother Elosha to stand and they both came forward.  President Roslin whispered to Adama, "I hope you don't mind, Hush, but I was hoping to leave after we met with Mother Elosha.  I don't think she's going to take long."

After the President had asked Adama to call her Laura, he'd made free with his own nickname of Hush, short for his Viper call sign Husher.  No one had called him William since his mother died.  In fact, most people now called him Commander, even his own son Lee.

As it turned out, Mother Elosha had a straightforward request.  She wanted wireless airtime.  "I thought perhaps each morning before the course correction, sort of as a blessing.  A reading from the Scrolls, a prayer.  It'd mean a lot to everyone, I think."  The priest leaned toward Adama across the gray expanse of table.  "If you knew how much we all look forward to your daily wireless news broadcasts, you'd understand.  Even if no one knows what you look like, we all know your voice, Commander.  On Colonial One, everyone stops what they're doing to listen.  You have no idea how important it is."

No, Adama hadn't.  He didn't know whether to be flattered or concerned at the paucity of diversion on the ships.  He looked at the President.  "I don't have any objections, if you don't, Laura."

"Well, Mother, we would have to give equal time to the monotheists."  The President sighed and rubbed her eyes.  Mother Elosha was one of the few people who knew about the President's cancer so she wasn't trying to hide it.  Billy was already shuffling papers together getting ready to leave.

"Pastor Remalya and I have already spoken.  We've agreed to alternate," the priest assured her.

Five minutes later the President left, but not before she once again had reminded Adama of the upcoming party with the fleet commanders.  "Bring someone who'll make you look a little more human and approachable," she'd said as she'd taken Billy's arm and slowly walked away.  They were bound for Colonial One docked in the newly empty starboard landing pod.

Adama's proposal to outfit the Tall Doll with three cannons and use her as an FTL gunship had led to a frakking party!  This morning he'd announced it in the news and instructions broadcast he did twice a day, and Specialist Dualla reported five of the ship commanders had already committed.  Hopefully they'd eventually all sign on.  According to Lee's report yesterday, the convoy had several decommissioned Colonial gun ships.  If they could sufficiently butter up one of those commanders, President Roslin's plan might work.  But if he'd had any idea --

Adama hadn't been on a date for ten years, not since the first few months after his divorce.  There were no women on the Galactica that didn't have to call him "sir."  So now among all of Adama's other responsibilities, he had to look for a date.  At his age.  He should be bouncing grandchildren on his knee or something equally stereotypical, not cruising the ranks of unmarried females hoping to find someone who was both suitable and not scared to death of him.  Lee had already told Adama that he was taking Kara.

Adama had to get off this ship for a while, to be just a human being.  Hell, he was supposed to be retired.  Damned Cylons.

Colonel Tigh went with Mother Elosha to arrange the wireless setup.  Finally Chief Tyrol and Chief Suben were able to sit down at the table with Commander Adama.

"Coffee?" Adama asked, gesturing behind him toward the pot.  Tyrol shook his head.  Suben accepted a cup, black.  Adama arose to pour.

Tyrol outranked Suben, but not by much.  Although still fairly young, Tyrol could fix literally anything on the Galactica.  He preferred the landing pod's Vipers and Raptors, and normally they took up most of his time.  But he'd been working everything the last few days and not getting a whole lot of sleep.  He had bags under his eyes big enough to pack lunch.  Valerii might also have something to do with that.

Suben had primary responsibility for Galactica's various engines, wiring and plumbing.  Almost Adama's age, Suben was neither imaginative nor ambitious, but he was competent and smart enough to pace himself.  He looked better rested than Tyrol.  He and Adama had always gotten along fairly well.

Colonel Tigh returned just as Adama poured the last coffee in the pot for himself and sat down.  The cupful smelled awful and tasted worse.  Quadruply recycled water made dreadful coffee.

"Did the Kobol Dream get off?" Adama asked.  Thanks to several interstellar barges filled with grains and soybeans and a tylium tanker they had plenty of food and fuel, at least for the time being.  But water was just as important and among the hubbub of settling in 50,000 people for a possibly years-long flight, every ship was supposed to be building extra water treatment tanks.  Except on the Galactica, ship septic systems were being taxed way beyond overload.

Lords, Adama was getting tired of dealing with all the details of saving the human race.  He needed something simple to do, just one thing.

Tyrol nodded his dark, close cropped head.  "She left at twelve-hundred on the dot.  That Commander Smith isn't such a bad sort."  He laid his black scheduler on the table.  "We do have a new problem, however, sir.  The Star Chaser reported this morning that both her normal and FTL engines are down and she's asked permission to drop out of formation using her attitudes."  Attitudes were the small rockets used for adjusting course, changing direction, and so on.  Without a normal space engine, the Chaser couldn't make tomorrow morning's course correction.  That would make her a traffic hazard in about twenty hours.  Until then she could cruise in place with the rest of them.

The Star Chaser, Adama had just heard that ship name.  Oh yes, money bags Graham's ship.

"Has she been evacuated?"  They left no one on a ship that couldn't jump FTL.  There was someone standing watch around the clock on every ship's bridge ready to jump if the Cylons attacked.

Suben spoke.  "Yes, sir, except for the ship's commander and a few other people.  She only had thirty or so civvies to begin with, so it was pretty easy to spread them around among the passenger liners, one or two here, one or two there.  I went over to work on her just a couple of hours ago, but her commander couldn't find engine schematics and I came back to see if the Galactica has anything."  In answer to Adama's puzzled frown, he added, "The Chaser's a decommissioned Colonial twelve-gunner, sir.  Probably fifty years old, if she's a day."

Adama smiled broadly.  If that didn't take him back.  "A twelve, huh?  My Uncle Ben flew a decommissioned twelve for, oh, I don't know, thirty, thirty-five years ago on the Geminon-Capricon route.  I used to spend all my vacations spacing with him when I was in college.  I got pretty good at tearing her down.  It's both her normal and FTL, you say?  Original equipment?  I wonder …"  The seed of a plan began to form in Adama's mind.  He came to a decision.  "Chief Suben, I want you to tell the Chaser we're sending an experienced engineer to fix her engines before the next course correction."

Across the table both Suben and Tyrol looked confused.  "Who, sir?"

"Me."

Tyrol didn't like it at all.  If possible, Colonel Tigh liked it even less.  He practically snarled his objections.  Of course, with Adama off ship he'd be in charge.  He never liked that.

Suben at least looked amused.  Perhaps being a long-time bachelor and close to retirement age himself he understood Adama's need to get away.  "I'll let her know, sir.  Uh, you should know, sir, there's this guy Graham on the Chaser, seems to think he owns the Fleet.  Tried to throw me off before I could even look at the engine room.  And the commander is a woman named Maya Godden.  Red hair, kinda pretty, but very fierce.  Seems scared of the Graham character though.  Both of them stood around glaring over my shoulder all the time.  And Commander Godden didn't like having military on her ship at all.  If the Galactica's commander shows up in her engine room, she might just … pow!"  Suben pretended to shoot out a target with an imaginary gun.

Adama laughed.  Freetraders and their commanders were renowned for their independence and distrust of the military.  It wasn't something that changed overnight.  "Thanks for the tip, chief.  I'll be sure to don a disguise."

"You have to take at least a bodyguard with you, Commander," Colonel Tigh spoke up.  "You know the route to Earth.  That makes you the single most important human alive, and I'll be damned if I'll let you go alone."

"But Saul, chiefs don't have bodyguards.  They won't know who I am.  I …"

Suben dared to break in.  It's not something a chief usually does to his commander.  "I'll go with you, sir.  They'll expect me to come back any way."

An hour later, Suben and Adama were in the bay used for Raptor and other non-catapult launches.  As Adama pulled on a pair of well-dirtied orange coveralls, Suben gathered together two kits of tools, steel ones for the normal space engine and spark-less brass for the FTL.

Colonel Tigh noisily pounded down the metallic steps leading from the entry level and arrived in the launch bay out of breath and red faced.  Tigh had a bad back and seldom exercised, not to mention the debilitating effects of his long-time alcohol addiction.  He bent over, hands on knees and blew for several seconds.  Finally straightening he held out a slender, metallic object that looked a lot like a pen or a gauge.

"I want you to stay in touch over there, Hush.  Dualla gave me this.  It's some sort of radiophone.  She swears it's got a range of five hundred klicks and can broadcast a couple of days."  He showed Adama the various settings.  Off, transmit only, transmit and receive, receive only.  "Dee or someone will be monitoring it all the time."

"Probably not such a bad idea, since I'm incognito.  Thanks, Saul."  Adama tucked the transmitter into his chest pocket.  "Anything else?"

Tigh looked as if he were eating a lemon.  "No, just be careful, old man.  I can't hold this show together without you."  He backed away a few steps, then turned to hurry up the metal stairs and back to CIC.

Out in the bay Adama's son Lee was readying one of their two Raptors to shuttle the Commander over to the Star Chaser.  Like Tyrol and Tigh, he didn't approve of this venture, but he'd said very little, just "be careful" and "enjoy yourself."  As their new CAG Lee was having his share of hassles.  Perhaps he understood a little, or maybe he was just envious.  That made Adama feel guilty, but he reminded himself that Lee flew patrol every day.

Tyrol had been sworn to secrecy.  No one else was to know that Adama had, so to speak, jumped ship.  He hadn't been this excited in a long time.  He felt positively light-headed.  Things were finally looking up.

:P:O:W:P:O:W:P:O:W:P:O:W:P:O:W:P:O:W:

Conversation . . . is the art of never appearing a bore . . .  Guy De Maupassant, Sur l'Eau (On the Water)

Talk to me.  Tell me what you think of the new chapter.  Yeah, I know it's not racy like the first one, but like I said this is really a Commander Adama story.  Lee and Kara will be back later.


	3. Chapter 3

No big deal.  Akiyama Tajima Kobol, Eighth Lord of Kobol

Colonel Paul Tigh tried to hurry back to CIC after seeing Commander Adama off on his little expedition, but he was ambushed at every passageway intersection.  First, Chief Jennifer Brendan, in charge of laundry and stores, wanted to know how soon she'd be back in business.  Then Chief Deuch the head cook paced him for twenty meters wanting to know the same.  Neither liked what he had to say – that the water delivery was still on hold.  Tigh was used to that.  XOs are often stuck with delivering bad news.

Tigh stopped briefly in his quarters to use the head and grab a quick swig, only his third today and that was a minor victory.  Yesterday he'd killed a whole bottle.

Just short of the CIC hatch Doctor Baltar caught up with Tigh.  He'd spent the last week in the medical laboratory working on a simple, on-the-spot way to identify their worst problem, the Cylon human look-alikes.  "I think I'll have something for you in a few more days," he said, looking over his shoulder as he spoke.  His eyes seemed to track something that wasn't there.

Tigh trusted Baltar, but the man had more twitches than a mere-mouse.  His long hair, greasy-looking since the first day Tigh had met him, had become a lank, matted nest.  His beard had grown from a dark shadow to a prickly brush and his clothes had food spots buried in the wrinkles.  It had to be the water shortage.  No sane man did that to himself voluntarily.  On the other hand, Baltar was genius.  They did all sorts of crazy things.

After following Tigh into CIC, Baltar stopped at Lieutenant Gaeta's station.  The always spit-and-polish Gaeta smiled Baltar a pleased greeting, and the two heads went together.  Tigh had begun to suspect something there, but he followed the "don't-ask-don't-tell" Fleet policy.  As Tigh checked in with Specialist Dualla he overheard snatches of conversation:  " . . . the party . . . wondering . . . the President asked me . . . someone . . ."  Gaeta nodded and smiled eagerly as Baltar spoke.

Baltar was too precious a resource to judge by normal standards, and if anyone could clean him up, it'd be Gaeta.  Might even cure him of some of that twitchiness.  Tigh made a mental note to ask Gaeta if he wanted a roommate.  Baltar had been bunking down wherever exhaustion found him, most of the time in the lab.  He'd probably like a place to call home not to mention the companionship.

Dualla reported the Commander's transmitter still quiet.  Of course, it would be.  The shuttle had just departed.  Then Dee waved in the general direction of the wardroom and said, "Mother Elosha has been waiting like you asked.  I made her some more coffee and sent down for sandwiches."

Tigh groaned.  He'd forgotten.  A conference with the priest had seemed like a good idea an hour ago, but with the Commander off-ship it didn't anymore.  Still he should at least personally apologize to Mother Elosha for keeping her.

After letting Gaeta know he still had the bridge, Tigh once more left CIC.

It was going to be one of those days, Tigh decided.  Since the Cylons had attacked humanity, pretty much every day had been "one of those days."  And today Hush sure wasn't helping much.

Tigh slipped through the wardroom hatch to find Mother Elosha sitting alone at the table calmly munching a chop meat sandwich and perusing a Sacred Scroll.  She looked up and smiled.  "Colonel!  I'm glad to see you!"

"I'm sorry I'm late, Mother.  Duties, you know."

"Oh, I know about duty, Colonel.  But don't worry.  After these past few days, a little quiet time is a blessing straight from the Lords.  And a real sandwich!  It's been a treat."

The priest's big smile did something to Tigh's heart.  As the highest-ranking cleric among the refugees, Mother Elosha hadn't spent more than a few hours on the Galactica since their escape.  In fact, she hadn't been anywhere very long.  Grabbing any passing shuttle, she'd been doing her best to get around to every ship and encourage everyone.  Even her daily prayer services were going to be sent in via wireless from wherever she happened to be.

But the best thing about Mother Elosha, the thing Tigh liked most, was that unlike some of the bureaucrats she backed Commander Adama to the hilt.  "Earth is there," she said every day and to everyone who'd listen.  "I know they'll take us in."

Tigh's mother had taught him to respect the church and the holy Lords.  He could make a few minutes to talk with this priest.  After all, the meeting had been his idea.  He pulled up a chair.  "I'm glad you've found some peace here in our wardroom.  Lords know you deserve it."

The wise brown eyes looked into him.  "So what can I do for you, Colonel?"

Tigh folded his hands and looked at them.  His mind tumbled, everything rattling together -- the horrors of war, the hatred of his shipmates, Kara Thrace's belligerence, his dead and cheating wife, worries about the convoy and the gnawing fear that never left him.  He was just one heartbeat from being responsible for the entire human race, and he couldn't even stop drinking.  "I hardly know where to begin."

The priest laughed gently.  "Well, some people do like the beginning, but I've always favored the end.  It seems to save time and I don't think either one of us has too much of that."  She had the coffee pot sitting on the table and offered Tigh a cup.  He shook his head.  He'd had enough bad coffee already today and not nearly enough whiskey.

"The end, hmm, I guess that would be this party that's coming up.  I'm supposed to go and . . . and bring a date.  And I'm not sure . . . "  Tigh's voice trailed off.

"Ah, I see.  Did you lose someone in the war?"  Every person on the Galactica had lost someone.  Most of them had lost everyone.  The war had been just last week.  The memory still shocked.

Tigh kept his eyes on his knotted hands.  He had a sudden memory of how his wife had looked on their wedding day, petite, vivacious and beautiful, and their honeymoon on a tropical island, the soft warm breeze on the beach and her soft skin in his bed.  But for the last two years they'd fought like the proverbial cat and rat.  He was always gone, she'd said.  She got lonely.  That had cut deep, but all the fighting had worn Tigh thin, and as his retirement date had crept up on him, he would have done anything to make peace.

On Picon he'd bought her a beautiful sparkling red party dress, shoes, the whole works.  A shop clerk had helped him pick it out and coordinate.  Now the clerk, the shop and Tigh's wife were all gone.  Only the outfit remained.  It was still in a box under his bed.  Finally he choked out, "My wife.  We've been separated for six months.  She was filing for . . . I had . . . "

Mother Elosha nodded and sighed.  She looked very sad.  How many stories like this had she heard in the last few days?  What friends, family or lovers had she lost herself?  "Let's see, this party.  Do you want to go?"

At that Tigh straightened up and untied his hands.  He still had a job.  He was still XO.  "That's not the question, Mother.  I've been ordered to attend the party.  I'll go."

The priest sipped her coffee and for a moment seemed lost in thought.  Pushing away the last of her sandwich, she leaned back in her chair.  "Well, you know something, Colonel, I've been ordered to go too.  And so far I haven't found a date.  What do you say?  Would you like to go with me?  I think we could knock their eyes out."

For a moment Tigh looked at her in amazement.  "Yes, ma'am, I'm sure we'd do that.  I'd be honored beyond words."

:H:O:W:H:O:W:H:O:W:H:O:W:H:O:W:H:O:W:

A gentlemen, nurse, that loves to hear himself talk, and will speak more in a minute than he will stand to in a month.  Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet, Act II, Scene 4, line 156.

I love to hear you talk too.  Please tell me what you think some more!  It keeps me writing.  Push that review button down and send me your review.


	4. Chapter 4

Death is only a waypoint.  Katherine Campbell Kobol, Fifth Lord of Kobol

From time immemorial self-important Colonial port officials had hated free traders.  One of them, whose fat head had been even bigger than his ass, had slapped a five thousand cubit fine on the Star Chaser for using red paint number seven instead of red twenty-six for hull lettering.  The fine had eaten up that voyage's entire profit.  Obviously the Chaser never put down there again.

In most ports, however, the planet's gatekeeper settled for being nosey and asking unanswerable questions like "where are you bound?" or "who hired you for this trip?"  In a twenty-year career as a free trader, Maya Godden had learned by necessity to lie very well.

The most important part of lying is knowing whether you've been believed.  A doubter will knit his brows and tilt his head forward to shroud his eyes.  A believer looks straight on.

Judging by that, of the three kidnappers on the Star Chaser's bridge, two of them, billionaire Garner Graham and his pet stellar archeologist Doctor Amoss Rainier, bought the technical comet shrik she was feeding them.  The other one, Graham's chief thug, a square-headed brute named Blakeney, just might be getting wise.  His eyes were black slits under a heavy primitive brow.  His left hand played with the bright green plastic grip of the power pistol stuck in his belt.

"Mr. Garner, I don't think we oughta listen to the bitch anymore.  Let's just bug out of this frakking flying circus.  The Galactica won't stop us," Blakeney said to Graham as the latter paced restlessly about the crowded bridge, bobbing his thin old body up and down like a loose-limbed puppet on a string.  "They've bought the engine trouble story.  If we wait any longer, that damned engineer'll be back."

Maya took her cue.  "It's already too late for that.  Suben's shuttle will lock and dock in less than ten minutes.  And I keep telling you the Galactica will fry us if we unexpectedly break formation.  We could be a Cylon plant for all they know and you heard Commander Adama that first day – no one goes back."

For a military prick, Adama seemed to have a good head on his shoulders.  He didn't want to hand the Cylons any leads back to his convoy.

Maya had told the kidnappers that she needed to return to their last FTL jump clear point to return to Colonial space.  It was a bald lie – she could have jumped it from right here in the middle of the convoy -- but the ground grippers had swallowed the excuse.  Now she was just about to run out of delaying tactics.

This would be her last chance to get help.  Somehow she had to make Chief Suben realize on this visit that she and her nephew Dehan were prisoners.  Despite Graham's loony conspiracy ideas, returning to Colony space wasn't an option.  Maya had seen the color stills of Caprica on fire.  Graham had snorted and claimed the pictures had been digitally altered, but the Galactica shuttle pilot swore the camera had been less than a thousand klicks away.

Maya's father had told her about Cylon torture techniques he'd seen in the last war.  She didn't want to investigate them firsthand.

Maya figured that Graham's money had fried his brain.  Without his fortune he was a powerless old man and he couldn't handle it.  As fantastic as it looked to anyone else, it was easier for Graham to believe his competitors had faked the Cylon war.  "We've found an actual piece of the Kobol ark," he'd told Maya.  "What else can they do?"

Graham had paid double Maya's usual charter rate for three months of asteroid prospecting in the outer belt.  They'd found a piece of durallium wreckage about five meters across in its largest diameter.  It was in the rear hold.  None of their recently departed complement of twenty-five refugees had seen it.  Maya's five crewmen, who'd also offloaded with the refugees, had had no idea what it was supposed to be.

Turning to Blakeney, Maya pleaded, "Look, I can make it look like we've got a gremlin in the FTL engine.  That's a random static charge, and they're almost impossible to fix without a dead-stop overhaul and degaussing.  A gremlin can even screw up a space normal engine."  Even ground grippers knew about engine gremlins from the Sacred Scrolls and space folklore.  Action-adventure vid. plots featured them all the time.

Since the kidnappers had taken over the Chaser yesterday, they had been forced to buy Maya's comet shrik.  None of them knew in which direction the Colonies lay, much less FTL navigation.  And she'd been forced to cooperate with them, telling the Galactica they had engine trouble and making sure the refugees and crew left without setting off any alarms.  She had to.  They had her nephew Dehan, and he was all Maya had left.  The rest of her family -- her parents, Dehan's mother Karen and Karen's husband Rander -- all of them had been on Caprica.

Dehan had been with his Aunt Maya for his annual school vacation.  The cruise had seemed pretty safe for the boy's first time in space.  Out to the belt, wander around for a few months, then take him home for his sixth school level.  The Goddens had always been spacers, and thirty years ago Maya had made her first cruise on this very same ship.

The wireless sputtered.  "Star Chaser, this is Colonial Raptor Three One Two.  We are at your doorstep and ready to lock and dock.  Do you have a nice warm airlock for us?"  The young male voice was familiar, but not the usual shuttle pilot, and Maya couldn't recall where she'd heard it before.  When Suben had left a few hours ago, a woman had picked him up.

Blakeney grabbed Maya's arm and shoved her at the wireless console, "Make some happy talk, Godden.  And don't forget we've got your boy."

Maya glanced at the locked hatch of the master cabin where Dehan slept curled up with his pet spider cat then to Graham who had stopped pacing and stood looking blankly out the bridge's forward canopy at the atmosphere canards.  In the co-pilot's seat Doctor Rainier plucked rhythmically at its worn leather arms.  Graham's other three goons had gone to the passenger lounge to gobble the last of the food supplies.  Under Galactica's orders the Chaser had been short rationing with its load of refugees for a week and a half.  They were all hungry.

Other than Blakeney, Graham's bodyguards looked so much alike -- big, blond and ugly -- Maya could never tell them apart and thought of them collectively as the "goons."

She'd been delaying too long.  Blakeney pulled out his power pistol.  "Do it!" he barked and gave Maya a hard shove that wrapped her small frame over the wireless.  Pushing herself upright slowly, she picked up the mike.  "Uh, welcome, Three One Two.  We've been looking for you.  Why don't you cuddle up to our topside lock?  I'll meet you up there."  Of the Chaser's three entry locks, topside was furthest from the engine room.

Graham came out of his reverie.  "You'd better not play any tricks, Ms. Godden.  We just want to be rid of them."  Every once in a while Graham still made touchdown.  Last trip he'd been all over Suben, blocking him at every step, only to fall apart again as soon as the Chief left.

Ten minutes later Maya, Graham, Blakeney and one of the goons were crowded into the narrow passageway beneath the topside lock's overhead hatch.  Rainier and the remaining two goons were keeping an eye on the bridge.  Blakeney stood behind Maya, looming over her like a brick wall, and close enough that his pocketed power pistol gouged into her back.  He hadn't a shower in a week or more.  He smelled like a toilet.  As the hatch opened, they all looked up.  Two heads looked down.

The spare goon made himself useful steadying two heavy tool kits that came through the hatch on a chain hoist.  Suben and another man followed the tools down on the ladder.

When they all stood in the passageway, practically nose to nose, the shuttle pilot stuck his head through.  It was Apollo, one of the Galactica's Viper pilots and as cute as a brand new coupe jet.  He'd been on board briefly in the first days after the Cylon attack surveying the Chaser's flight status, and Maya regularly heard him talking on the wireless.  No wonder he'd sounded familiar.  Apollo looked around at the packed passageway then at the two men he'd just dropped off.  "Call me when you need a ride, okay?  I'll be waiting."  He nodded at Maya.  "Ma'am, always a pleasure."  Pulling up the ladder, he clanged the airlock's inside hatch shut.  A moment later Maya heard the outside hatch shut too, followed by the vibration as the Raptor undocked.

From the belts of the two Galactica crewmen hung standard military hard-shot pistols and several spanners and covered pouches.  They wore orange work coveralls that had seen better, cleaner days.  The Galactica must be as short of water as the rest of the convoy.  Like Blakeney, Maya hadn't had a shower since before the attack.

Suben straightened from heaving the toolboxes onto a couple of wheeled carts.  "Commander Godden, this is, uh, Chief Husher.  He's had some practical experience working on twelves and volunteered to get yours back in shape."

The new man held out his hand and smiled.  White teeth gleamed in a rugged face.  A long healing cut hashed with stitches accented the old scars crisscrossing and pock-marking the man's cheeks and forehead.  He stood shorter than Suben by a good head, and when Maya took his hand, it felt soft for an engineer.  Perhaps he did mostly paper work.  He looked too old to be a full-time grease monkey.  "Honored to meet you, Commander Godden," he said.  The deep hoarse rumble was somehow familiar.

Maya nodded.  Blakeney poked her in the back again with his pocketed power pistol.  Her head jerked and she looked at him over her shoulder, but she said, "I certainly hope you haven't come all this way for nothing, Chief Husher.  I think we've got a gremlin."

"Please call me Hush, ma'am.  All my friends do.  A gremlin you say?  Well, I know a few tricks.  Maybe we can just give him the boot.  Shall we?"  He gestured in the correct direction for the engine room.  The man did know his twelves.

And that rumbling voice … there was something about the voice.  But Maya didn't have time for mysteries.  She nodded agreement at the Chief, who seemed to outrank Suben.  She started down the passageway, Chief Husher a half step after her pulling behind him one of the tool carts, a fuming Blakeney following up, and Suben and the spare goon bringing up the rear.

Graham stepped out to block Maya's way, his eyes jumping out of their sockets.  Apparently he'd gone back into full orbit.  "Uh, Hush, this is Garner Graham," Maya said.  "He's chartered the Chaser for a three-month exploration."

The Chief stepped forward and nodded to Graham.  "It's a pleasure, sir."  The two men looked each other in the eye until Graham finally sidestepped into an open hatchway and let them by.  Maya didn't turn to see if Graham followed after them or not.

She was impressed.  She'd never seen Graham back down a millimeter for anyone or any reason.  He'd been a royal pain when they'd been carrying the refugees.  And even an old spacer like the Chief must know about Graham's fortune.

When the passageway reached mid-ship it widened out a little and Maya dropped back to walk next to Chief Husher.  Now was the time to try something.  It had to be subtle, though.  Blakeney and his power pistol were less than a meter behind.  He could make charcoal out of both of them in a matter of seconds.

None of the kidnappers knew anything about FTL navigation.  Maybe she could fling the Chief some of her comet shrik and he'd catch the stellar drift.

"Uh, Chief … I mean, Hush, I understand that Commander Adama is throwing a party for all the ship commanders."  The Chief actually laughed at that, and shook his head as if wondering about the sanity of his superiors.  "Yes, ma'am, so I'm told.  Scuttlebutt says five of the commanders have already signed on.  Are you planning to go?"

"I suppose so, if it means a shower and a decent meal."

"I'm sure it will mean that, ma'am.  President Roslin and the Commander are putting together something special."  The Chief shifted so he could pull his heavy cart with the other hand.  Definitely a paper pusher.

Here it comes.  Did the Chief have enough rockets to catch it?  Earlier Maya had tried to drop Suben several hints, but he hadn't picked up on any of them.  Chief Husher seemed a lot smarter, although it was hard to tell from so little conversation.  Maya could feel Blakeney's eyes boring into her back.  "I was thinking, um, that is, I was hoping that I could ask some of the other commanders about this problem I have figuring my FTL plots.  Maybe you even know the answer.  I always get my destination right, but my transitions are thirty seconds too long."  That was pure gibberish.  FTL plotting was all about destination.  Nothing else mattered.  A ship could be anywhere and jump anywhere else instantaneously, even a million light years away.  The trick was to make sure that nothing else was there first, which grows more difficult with distance.  Scanning a destination a million light years away shows everything as it was a million years ago, not in the present cosmic instant.

Chief Husher's brows knit together and he looked sideways at her with a frown.  A hand went to his chest pocket and played with a long, slender pen, but all he said was, "Well, ma'am, I'm afraid that sort of question is beyond me.  I just fix 'em."

Behind them Suben, who was still walking after Blakeney, said, "What in the Twelve Colonies do you mean by that, Commander Godden?  That doesn't make any sense."

Blakeney yelped a curse.  Without missing a beat, Chief Husher shoved his cart away behind him at Blakeney's shins.  Catching him on one leg, it knocked him down.  Blakeney's power pistol flew out of his hand and rattled against the bulkhead.  Further down the passageway another power pistol flamed, and the air seemed to explode.

:S:O:S:O:S:O:S:O:S:O:S:O:S:

What is reasonable is real; that which is real is reasonable.  Philosophy of Right, George Hegel.

Now that quote I just had to put in.  It is so … so reasonable.  Please send me your reviews.  We still have a long way to go on this story.  I would like to know what you think.


	5. Chapter 5

Fair warning doesn't always mean fair fight.  Boubacar Messaoud Kobol, Sixth Lord of Kobol

At Colonel Tigh's order, Chief Tyrol caught Lee just as he returned from his morning convoy patrol.  Pulling him into the port maintenance bay's tool room, Tyrol told Lee his father's plan and relayed Tigh's request to provide secret shuttle service.

"He's crazy," Lee said, meaning his father not Colonel Tigh.

"Yes, sir.  Couldn't agree more, but you know the Commander, sir.  There's no changing his mind once it's made up."

Lee knew.

On the trip out from Galactica, Lee kept quiet while Suben and the Commander chatted about the Star Chaser's engines.  He hadn't bothered to disagree since his father frequently pulled rank to win arguments.  It was one of the more unpleasant things about serving under him on the Galactica.

But, as Lee reminded himself for the fourth time in the last ten minutes, unlike most people in their convoy of refugees he still had a father and -- Lords save us all for raving fools – he loved the crazy old bastard.  And the old bastard loved him back.

So on the first leg of the journey Lee thought mostly about Kara's broad, sunny smile and what she was going to look like in a party dress.  He also thought about how he'd get her out of it later on.  It helped pass the time.

On the way back, Lee had something more pressing on his mind -- the crowded scene that had been below him in the Star Chaser's passageway.  There had been far too many people for a repair party and two of them had looked more like half-civilized mountain apes than crew.

It nagged at him.  There had been something seriously wrong.  The more he thought about it the clearer it became.

By the time Lee landed the Three One Two on the Galactica and debarked, throwing an absentminded acknowledgment to Chief Tyrol's punctilious salute, he'd made up his mind.  He was going back.  But he'd need help and it had to be someone he could trust.  His chrono. said fifteen twenty-seven.  Kara must be up by now.  He'd grab her and fill her in.  After that he'd check in with Tigh for anything new.

Lee had been on duty twelve hours and really should be going off, but it wasn't the first double shift he'd pulled this week.  Adrenalin would keep him functional for a few hours more.

Kara wasn't hard to find.  As usual on her time off, she was in the pilots' rec. compartment, stripped half way to her skivvies and playing cards.  And judging from the sour faces around her table, she was winning.

Everyone held a cup of the galley's atrocious recycled-water coffee, but most of them weren't drinking it.  The rec. compartment smelled almost as bad as the gymnasium.

"Boss man!" Kara cried as Lee walked in.  "I mean, Captain Adama, sir!  Pull up a chair and let me beat the pants off you."

He had no time for humor.  "Let's go," was all he said.

All the pilots in the compartment straightened up.  When the CAG said "Jump" everyone was supposed to ask "How high?"  Lee realized he must look like a storm cloud needing a place to rain.  After Ragnar, on Lee's first day or two as CAG, most of these pilots had ignored him.  Just yesterday and today, they'd begun to come around.  Kara's enthusiastic friendship probably had a lot to do with that.

Glancing around, Lee shook his head and told them, "It's nothing.  As you were.  Kara, let's go!"  With a cupping wave he beckoned her away.

Frowning she threw down her cards, bowed to the rest of the table  -- Beamer, Bonesaw, Theseus, and HolyMoly, all orphaned Solaria Viper pilots that had arrived at Ragnar with the civilian convoy.  "Gentlemen, my apologies.  Apparently I'm being called to duty."

Out in the passageway the watch bell had just rung, and everyone was bound either for a duty station or a bunk.  Dodging through the flow, Kara pulled on her jacket and said, "This had better be good, I was about to win enough water credits for a shower!"

When worried, Lee Adama's sentences grew very short and to the point.  "It's my dad."

Kara stopped dead.  A crewman had been walking closely behind her.  He had to sidestep quickly to avoid a knockdown collision.  "What's the matter?"  Grabbing Lee's arm, she jerked him to a stop as well.  "Lee!  What's the matter?"  The flow of people eddied around them.

"Not out here!" he hissed.  "The gymnasium!  Come on!"  It was to their left down the next side passage.  In the lead, Lee ducked through its half open hatch.  Kara followed and discreetly pulled it closed.

As usual the compartment was empty.  Except for the Marines who exercised every day, most of the Galactica's crew was spending too much time saving humanity to keep in shape.  The compartment smelled just as bad as it had early that morning, and Lee's E.V.A. boots still sat on the deck right where he'd left them.  Suddenly he felt exhausted.

"Tell me fast," Kara said, "or I swear you'll die a slow and painful death."

He told her, pacing around, hitting the punching bag several times and kicking over a whole stack of mats as he spoke.  She giggled for a while and shook her head once or twice, but when he'd finished, Kara looked as sober as he felt.  "Well, what are we waiting for?" she asked.  "Let's go get him!"

Given free choice, Kara probably wouldn't tell the Galatica XO they were going.  For reasons Lee still didn't understand, she hated his guts.  So Lee told her, "Tigh gave Dad a miniature wireless.  I want to see if he's checked in."

"Let's go then!  Time's a wastin'!"  With a single anxiety-fueled heave Kara threw open the heavy gymnasium hatch and burst back out into the passageway.  Together they trotted to the CIC.

"Who?" Kara asked looking around.

"Probably Dee," Lee answered.  "She monitors most of the wireless."

Specialist Dualla's head bent over her console.  Green diode glow reflected off her face.  She had the unfocused, far-off gaze of a listening post.  An ear- and microphone rack hung over one side of her head, giving her an unbalanced look.

"Hey, Dee, how's tricks?" Kara asked.

Dee shook her head and held up a hand.  She chewed her lower lip.  Flicking a switch, she spoke rapidly into her microphone.  "Colonel, sir, I think you should get back to CIC right away!  I'm getting something over that miniature.  I don't like the sound of it."

Tigh's voice came over the intercom.  "What does he want, Dee?"

"I can't talk to him, sir.  He's just broadcasting."

"Oh damn.  On my way.  Record it."

"Yes, sir."  Dee flicked another switch.

Lee stepped up to the equipment console.  "Is that my father?  Put it on the speaker!"

"But the Colonel told me . . . !"

"Then give me that frakking earphone!"

With a shaking hand, Dualla pulled off her rack and handed it over.  When Lee tried to put it on, Kara stopped him with, "Oh no, you're not.  Share, you bastard!"  She made him hold the earpiece up between them.

On her control panel Dualla turned a dial and the earphone's volume went up.  Lee could hear distant sobbing and in counterpoint a man's voice firing a steady string of curses.

The sobbing seemed to be a woman saying, "Hush! Hush!"

Although less clear the man said, "Oh shrik!  Frakking Colonial!  Lords that hurts!"  He said frak several more times after that.  It wasn't the Commander.  A series of loud clangs and rattles punctuated the sobbing and cursing.

Dualla told them, "I heard Commander Adama say something then a crackle like a power pistol discharge.  This is all I've been getting since."

The sobbing stopped.  They heard several groans and the rattle of fabric on a microphone then the Commander's voice.  "I'm all right, ma'am.  At least I think I am.  Ouch!"

The woman said, "Thank the Lords!"

A very distant man's voice ordered, "Get up."  Lee heard some scuffling and groaning.  "On your feet, Chief Husher, or I'll shoot you where you lie."  More scuffling and rattling fabric.  More groaning.  "Get your hands over your head.  Blakeney, get his gun.  No, just take off the tool belt!  Commander Godden, I advise you to stand back.  I've killed one of my own men now and that damned nosey Colonial.  I won't hesitate a second over your nephew."

"Suben?"  That might be the Commander again.  It was hard to tell from just two syllables.

The distant man's voice answered, "Unfortunately, Chief Suben has joined his ancestors.  Blakeney, do you think you can make it to the bridge?"

The man who'd been cursing spoke.  "Yes, sir.  Of course, I can."  The reply had been quick.

"What the hell is going on here?" Colonel Tigh voice boomed directly behind Lee.

:m:l:m:l:m:l:m:l:m:l:m:l:m:l:m:

Discuss unto me; art thou officer?  
Or art thou base, common and popular?  Shakespeare, Henry V, Act IV, Scene i, line 37.  (This scene is in large part the inspiration for Dating Service, by the way.)

Let's discuss.  Please send your review!


	6. Chapter 6

The thing about boxing with shadows is that they never hit back.  Meredith Fitzgerald Kobol, Seventeenth Lord of Kobol.

Maya watched in awe as Chief Husher stumbled awkwardly down the passageway, hands behind his head.  The power pistol's explosive blast had thrown the Chief against a bulkhead, but within a few minutes he'd struggled back to his feet.  Blood trickled slowly down a cheek and if he lived long enough, he'd have a new scar to add to his collection.  The flash had dazzled him – he was blinking rapidly and shaking his head -- but, although the Chief had been disarmed, he didn't seem afraid or even very disturbed.  He looked to be one tough bastard.  And here she'd thought him to be a lowly paper pusher.

Graham followed behind the Chief holding the power pistol in his hand.  The old billionaire had gotten in touch with his inner killer.  He warily walked along like he expected someone to jump out at him from every hatch and cross passageway.

The Chief's body had shielded Maya from the worst of the concussion.  Firing his power pistol at maximum, Graham had killed both Suben and his own man, both of whom were now little more than long sticks of carbon.  A splash of shiny black grease coated the bulkheads, the overhead and the deck.  Power pistols made a disgusting mess out of living tissue.

Maya and Blakeney followed Graham, Blakeney's left shoe squishing and leaving behind a trail of blood.  The Chief's tool cart had done a real number on that leg, its corner ripping through the pants and plowing a nice furrow in Blakeney's meaty calf.  Maya, as the Chaser's commander, usually pulled medic duty, but the bastard could find someone else to doctor him.  Maybe she'd get lucky and he'd pass out.

"No funny business, Godden," Blakeney growled in Maya's ear.  "Graham can kill the Chief up there really easy.  Then maybe he'll let me have a little fun with your nephew."  He had his right arm over her shoulders.  "Let's take it slow and easy now."  The edge of the flash bubble had singed Blakeney's hair.  That acrid stink and the sickening odor of burnt flesh made the air hard to breathe.  If Maya had had anything in her stomach, she might have thrown up.

Chief Husher led them flawlessly to the bridge, even taking the shortest route.  It seemed likely he'd spent time on a twelve back in the first Cylon war.  He looked almost old enough, although not nearly as old as Maya's dad.  Maybe he'd signed on as the war wound down.  Colonial Fleet had decommissioned all the twelves not long after that.

"Be careful, you damned bitch!" Blakeney screamed.  His staggering had forced Maya into a bulkhead and they'd almost gone down.  Her back was screaming.  Together they struggled down the last few yards of the passageway in a reeling, sloppy stagger.  In the bridge compartment, Blakeney fell into the navigator's chair, the closest one to the hatch.

"My holy Lords!" Doctor Rainier, the scientist, exclaimed.  He wrung his hands like a vid. stereotype of an old woman.  Graham's two remaining goons popped out of their seats like they'd been ejected.  One grabbed the MedicKit.

Relieved of her heavy burden, Maya tottered uncertainly on for several steps only to trip over something, probably her own feet.  She fell against Chief Husher.  Dropping his arms to catch her, the Chief held Maya tightly against his chest.  She leaned into him.  It was either that or fall to the deck.  "Are you okay, Commander?" the Chief whispered in her ear.  She looked up.  The trickle of blood on his rough face had already begun to dry.

"Gimme a second," she paused to gulp air.  "Frak, that bastard needs to go on a diet."

Laying her head against the Chief's convenient shoulder, Maya panted and groaned.  The pens and things in his chest pocket gouged her small breast.  He felt warm and solid.  The man was a rock.  "What the hell's been going on here?" he asked softly.

Insanity, that's what, Maya thought.  She shook her head.  "Graham's crazy.  He wants to go back home …" she gasped in a few breaths "… Been stalling him as best I could."  She nodded at the master cabin hatch.  "They've got my nephew."  Maya shook from the effort of hauling Blakeney up here as well as a two-day payload of anxiety, and no food or sleep.

"Don't worry.  We'll get you out of this."

Yeah, right.  Typical male bravado, but what else would you expect from military?  Although Maya tried to snort, she didn't have enough breath.  But despite herself she believed him.  If anyone could save her and Dehan, it'd be the Chief.

One of the goons had cut away the leg of Blakeney's pants to reveal a pulped, bloody mess.  Blakeney looked at his leg and then away.  Gray as stellar drift, he twitched spasmodically as his fellow goon began to wash the wound and press on bandages.  "Damn!" Blakeney gasped.  "Gimme a pain shot, Wynder!"

Wynder turned to the Medickit to comply, only to be blocked by Graham.  Graham and his pet scientist Rainier had been arguing quietly, Graham gesturing and snarling, Rainier trying to placate him with petting motions and a downcast face.  "How bad is it?" Graham asked.

Graham still had that power pistol in his hand and he looked ready, maybe even eager, to use it.  Maya could see his rockets flaming for a takeoff.  Graham was about to go back into full psych-out orbit, and this one looked like it was going to be really high.  Firing a power pistol on the bridge could kill them all.

"He killed Jenson!  Bastard just burnt him down!"  Blakeney said and grunted as he tried to straighten up, but the hike to the bridge had taken all his strength.  He seemed terrified.  With one hand he tried to find the grip of his power pistol.  Wynder hastily stood and backed away.  The other goon groped behind his back for something.

Oh Lords, it was going to be a power pistol fire fight.  Maya ducked her head against Chief Husher's neck.  She couldn't bear to watch anymore.  She could feel her skin crisping already.  One of the Chief's arms dropped away from her.  His balance shifted forward.  He seemed to be considering an attack.

Behind her Doctor Rainier spoke.  Actually, he squeaked.  "Aren't we losing sight of our goal here, Mr. Graham?  I mean we still have to get back to Caprica.  Think of what we've found!  The importance to modern space archeology!  You've found a piece of the true ark.  It'll make you famous forever."  The moment stretched.  Nothing happened.

Maya dared to look again and tried to speak.  She had to cough a few times before any words would come out.  "Chief Husher here can call the Galactica for us, tell them we've got a gremlin.  That we have to pull out and go dead.  They'll believe him."  Maya looked to see if the Chief was going to back her up.  His deep brown eyes were focused on Graham.  He'd completely let go of her.  She stepped away.  She could almost stand up straight on her own.

The Chief nodded.  "I'll call them.  I haven't been buying Commander Adama's frakkin' story anyway.  Left me some unfinished business back on Picon.  A man owes me ten thousand cubits and I don't mean to let him off the hook."

Tension on the bridge eased off.  Wynder and his fellow goon went back to work on Blakeney, who had fallen back in his chair and seemed to have passed out.

"Fine," Graham said.  "Do it."  He waved at the wireless with the pistol.  "Don't forget I'm here."

Chief Husher stepped forward, his hand going to his chest pocket.  Graham's pistol came up, but the Chief only pulled out a pair of glasses.  "I can't remember, Commander Godden, is the new emergency frequency sixteen?" he asked looking at Maya with demanding eyes and a thrusting jaw that said, "Agree with me."

"Yes, sixteen."  Actually, it was twenty-two.  Sixteen was one of the bands reserved for Galactica's communications needs.  Maya wondered what the Chief had up his sleeve besides his arm.

He put on his glasses and fiddled with the tuner.  Picking up the microphone, he spoke, "Galactica, this is Star Chaser."

A woman's crisp voice answered immediately, "Galactica here.  Are you declaring an emergency, Star Chaser?"  It wasn't the usual wireless operator whom everyone knew as Dee.  The Chief smiled.  He seemed relieved.

"Hi, Kara.  This is Chief Husher.  These folks have a twelve here with a really nasty gremlin.  We need to drop out while I work on it."

The woman's voice came back.  "Hi, Chief.  We've really been missing you around here.  The CAG just came by CIC asking for you.  Says you, uh, haven't finished fixing his Viper and that he's got a good mind to chase you with it.  I'll have to get Actual's permission on that dropout.  Can you hold?"

"Tell the CAG I'll get to his Viper when I can, but not now.  I'll hold for Actual.  Hurry back."

Graham's pistol had begun to drop.  He looked almost as gray as Blakeney and as old as the original Big Bang.  The Chief watched Graham.  Maya watched them both.

The wireless spoke again, this time a man.  "This is the XO, Chief Husher.  Actual is, uhm, tied up.  What do you need?"

The Chief's smile grew broader.  He actually seemed to be enjoying this.  "We've got a situation here, sir.  They've got a gremlin eating up their engine.  I think if we drop her out and power everything down, even the gravity field, we can kick him out."  Typical solution for a static gremlin, except for the gravity generator.  That would have no effect one way or the other.

The wireless rattled.  "Hold on a second, Chief."

Chief Husher looked at Maya with dancing eyes that invited her in on some joke.  She tried to make her own eyes ask, "What's going on?"  But he just ever so slightly shook his head and shrugged.

Graham had plopped down in the pilot's chair, the power pistol hanging limply from his hand.  Wynder and his fellow goon were hauling Blakeney over to the watch bunk built into the bridge's aft bulkhead.  Blakeney seemed to be completely out.  Maya used the bunk when she had to fly alone, which over her twenty-year career had happened more often than she had liked.  It had actually been nice having a shipload of refugees for company this past week.  Crowded and smelly with all the unwashed bodies, but friendly, and they'd never questioned her leadership.  That was more than Maya could say of some of the crewmen she'd hired over the years.

Doctor Rainier had begun to pace around, muttering to himself and an invisible audience.  Maybe Graham wasn't the only nut on board, Maya thought.  "I didn't sign on for this," she heard him say.  "Murder?  We have to get away.  We're in too deep."  Graham must have told Rainier what had happened.  From what Maya had seen over the last few months, the doctor lived inside his head, and she doubted there was much in there but bones and dusty books.  Violence had messed up his neat stacks of ideas and theories.

The wireless came back to life.  "Star Chaser, we're arranging a pusher to get you cleanly out of line and some protection for you while you're in repairs, but it's going to take a bit of setup time.  Here's what I'd like you to do:  Listen to Commander Adama's evening news broadcast then call us back on this frequency.  I'll have some final instructions."

The Chief looked around for the Chaser's chrono.  "I make that to be in, uh, about two hours, sir.  Is that right?"

"Two hours and twenty minutes, Chief.  News will be at eighteen hundred tonight."

"Yes, sir.  Star Chaser out."

Graham had jumped back to his feet.  "You were supposed to get us out, not get us a couple of watchdogs!"

"Trust me, sir, we won't have any trouble losing them.  They're sending us a workhorse and a Viper, neither of them FTL.  Commander Godden can just jump us back a few light minutes right along our route.  They won't be able to keep up."  The Chief looked Graham steadily in the eye.  It was the same trick Maya had seen him use earlier in the passageway.  Although the old billionaire still held the power pistol, he looked to be on his last legs, his sad old body sagging, his face drawn into a death mask.  He backed down.

Gesturing at his two goons with an arm that seemed to weigh a ton, Graham said, "Wynder, Canby, lock Chief Crusher and Commander Godden in with the boy.  I need to get some rest."  They straightened up, ready to comply, but Graham had another thought.  "Wait.  Take that coverall off him.  I want to make sure he's not hiding any surprises."

The Chief stood as still as a sculpture of a warrior as the two goons stripped him down.  Under his coverall he wore standard military knit undershirts, slacks and soft ship boots.  A long chain with two ID tags hung from his neck.  "The tags too.  I don't want to be garroted in my sleep."  Wynder yanked the chain off the Chief's neck and threw it on the deck with the discarded orange coverall.

"In there," Wynder said and indicated the master cabin hatch his fellow goon Canby was busy unlocking.  The two of them shoved Maya and the Chief through and the hatch slammed shut.

:V:O:V:O:V:O:V:O:V:O:V:O:V:O:

Talk of mysteries!  Think of our life in nature – daily to be shown matter, to come in contact with it – rocks, trees, wind on our cheeks! The _solid_ earth! the _actual_ world! the _common sense_! _Contact! Contact_! _Who_ are we? _where_ are we?  Henry David Thoreau, The Maine Woods, Ktaadn

Let's make contact!  Write a review and tell me what you think!


	7. Chapter 7

They say that love will always find a way.  I say: only if it has a really good star chart.  Riikka Korpela Kobol, Thirteenth Lord of Kobol

"You did what?" Sharon Valerii almost yelled.  She sat up, letting her uniform jacket slide completely off her arm and onto the deck of Raptor Three One Two.

After Lee Adama had returned from the Star Chaser, Chief Tyrol had begun repairs on the hole punched through the Raptor's belly last week.  Although operating systems had already been repaired, the cabin still had only the magnetic emergency plug to hold out space.  The Chief had to weld on a durallium patch.

Lieutenant Sharon Valerii had joined Tyrol to do a post-flight check.  It's not that she didn't trust Lee with her bird, but the Raptor was the only private room she and Tyrol had on the Galactica, and even then they had to polarize the front canopy and dog the hatch.

Underneath Sharon, Tyrol said, "I thought you'd be pleased, darling.  We've got Boxey to think of now."  He tried to pull her down for some more post-coital cuddling.

Sharon wasn't having any of it.  The pure pleasure and intimacy of just minutes before had disappeared.  She felt like she'd been thrown into the deep end of the swimming pool back at Picon pilot training headquarters.  Climbing off Tyrol, she reached for her skivvies, slacks and shoes.  "But you didn't tell me, Rolly.  You didn't say a word.  The Commander could give me all kinds of trouble over this.  I could be taken out of the flight rotation or be put on report, maybe even thrown in the brig!  I outrank you!  It's my responsibility!"

Tyrol sat up, rumpling their wool blanket into a pile of Colonial green.  "The Commander's had the request on his desk for three days.  If he was going to do anything like that, it would've happened by now."  His tone of voice said, "Be reasonable."

Sitting down in the pilot's seat, Sharon continued dressing, as stonily silent as an asteroid.

Tyrol sighed.  "Damn, you're hard to figure out."  Getting to his feet, Tyrol zipped up his pants, then his coverall.  Men had it so easy when it comes to clothes and sex.

Sharon finished tying up her boots and began finger combing the tangles out of her long hair.  It had been so long since she'd been able to wash it, the strands felt oily and slid thru her fingers like so much limp spaghetti.  Now was the time to tell him, she decided.  She'd been trying all day to find a better time, but if he wanted to unload trouble, she could hit him with some of her own.  "President Roslin has asked me to be at the commanders' party."

"Oh, she did?  I'll bet she wants to give you a medal or something."  Tyrol took second chair where Helo used to sit.  "You're a big hero."  He grinned, obviously glad to talk about something new.  Tyrol hated fighting with her.

She smiled back at him, but then looked away and licked dry lips, trying to think of a good way to say it.  There wasn't any.  Maybe it wouldn't be so bad after all.  "I'm supposed to bring a date.  So . . . so I've asked Captain Kelly."  As Landing Deck Officer, Kelly was Tyrol's immediate superior.

Tyrol's prolonged silence had the thick texture of knee-deep mud.  "Oh, well, yeah.  That's great.  Kell's a good guy.  I'm sure you two'll have a great time."

When upset, Tyrol scrunched his shoulders and stuck his head forward.  At the moment he looked like he had a Viper on his back.  Pulling on her jacket, Sharon stood up and began to button.  "What was I supposed to do?  You can't go and I have to.  So I found a date."

Tyrol's precious love anchored Sharon, but she always seemed to be casting him adrift.  She'd always had deep problems with relationships.  The chaplain blamed it on her orphaned childhood.  She blamed it on herself.

Tyrol's jaw thrust out even further, his face closed down.  Ever since Sharon had met him, he'd led with his chin on everything, and their romance had been no exception.  "Do whatever you want," he said and then with extra emphasis and a sneer, "sir."

Sharon had been about to apologize, but that brought her hackles up.  Slamming the hatch switch, she snarled, "Great.  Tell Boxey I'll pick him up after second watch."

"Yes, sir."  Tyrol jumped off the Raptor's shoulder and stalked across the maintenance shop deck in the direction of the tool room.

Picking up their blanket off the deck, Sharon wrapped it up in her arms and sat down heavily in the second chair Tyrol had just vacated.

The maintenance crews had been so busy on vital repairs there'd been no time for clean up.  A few spots of Helo's blood speckled the Raptor's instrument panel and the monitors.  Somehow Helo still filled the cabin.  Tyrol filled it too.  Ghosts and arguments crowded the narrow space.

Hugging her blanket close, Sharon tried not to cry.  Only one tear made it down her face.  Hearing someone at the hatch, she looked up.  It was Tyrol.  He wore his icy cold professional work face.  "Lieutenant Valerii, sir.  We've been asked to report to the officers' wardroom A.S.A.P."

Chief Tyrol tried not to think about the woman sitting next to him at the wardroom table.  If Sharon could keep her mouth shut, so could he.  It was best that way.  He'd been a fool to think she could possibly love a grease monkey like him.

The officer wardroom had been turned into some sort of auxiliary CIC.  A portable wireless console stood in a corner.  The hotshot Viper pilot Lieutenant Thrace and Dualla from CIC stood over it, both of them wearing earphone racks.  Thrace had one of her big cigars in her mouth and a murderous expression on her face.  Dee just looked worried.  Colonel Tigh – Tyrol always thought of him as "the Bastard" and spelled it with a capitol B – was deep in conversation with Mother Elosha and the bureaucrat from this morning, Jerry somebody, whose voice had sounded so remarkably like Commander Adama's.

Mother Elosha looked as calm as always.  Jerry seemed incredulous.  Large schematic print-outs covered one table.

The Commander's son Captain Adama sat across the table from Tyrol and Sharon.  As the Captain spoke, Tyrol rubbed his face trying to make the tight jaws relax.  He'd been afraid of something like this when the Commander had wanted to go on this moon-blown trip.  And Suben was dead.  Damn.  He'd been a good man with a spanner.

The Captain finished up.  " … and that's all we know so far.  They made him strip and Dualla thinks the wireless transmitter must be laying on the deck.  All we can hear is some kind of rumbling and sometimes a few words in the background."

"So what can I do to help, sir?"  They must have brought him and Sharon here for a reason.

"Actually it's both you and Boomer here."  The Captain nodded at Sharon.  "The Three One Two's docker still holds the last unlock sequence, right?  I mean it hasn't been wiped yet."

Sharon answered that one.  "That's theoretical, sir.  There's no practical way to recall and use it again and I don't think anyone has ever tried."

The Captain's eyes shifted to Tyrol.  "I agree, sir.  Short of ripping the docker out of the Raptor and hauling it to the sequencer in the main lab, there's no way to get at the information."  It was one of the drawbacks of their un-networked old battlestar.  Information in one computer pretty much stayed there.

"How long would that take?"

Sharon said, "At least a day, Captain.  It's a lot of work."

Tyrol glared at her.  Why did Sharon always think she knew his job?  "Begging the lieutenant's pardon, but it wouldn't take that long.  Four hours.  A miracle for each minute less.  The docker's computer is rigged to every piece of the mechanism.  Every lead has to come off and be labeled or I'll never get it back together again."

"Well, then that's one thing we need from you -- a way to get the Star Chaser's hatch open and without cooperation from their bridge.  We found a few old twelve schematics in the archive.  They're over there but we have no way of knowing modifications."  Both Tyrol and Sharon started to get up.  Now what did she think she was doing?

"Wait.  There's one more thing.  We think that the Commander's told us to shoot out their gravity generator."

"Really, sir?  Wow!"  Now that was a genuine stroke of genius.  Made of solid metal and with practically no moving parts, even long-time spacers thought of gravity generators like planet cores.  That is, they didn't think of them at all.  They just were.  Generators were almost impossible to destroy, but with sufficient force they could be damaged, and it did very strange things to a ship's gravity.

Captain Adama was worried.  Tyrol could see it in his face.  "If I shoot it out, what will that do?  It won't crush him will it?"

"No, sir.  Even damaged generators max out at one g.  Depending on just where your shell hits, there will be pools of gravity loss all over the ship.  If it takes out the stabilizer, the pools may travel around.  At the very least, there'll be significant fluctuations."

Sharon had managed to sit quietly for a minute.  "What am I going to do, sir?  Pilot the Raptor?"

"First I'd like you to work with the Chief on the docker problem.  You'll have until seventeen forty-five to come up with something.  At eighteen hundred whether you have a docker solution or not, I'll be wanting you to pilot the Three One Two over with a rescue party.  They'll be wearing E.V.A. mag boots so they can move around the ship even without gravity.  The kidnappers are going to think that you're flying a workhorse, so you can't let them see you either."

Frak, Tyrol thought.  I can't work with Sharon on this.  Not today.  He was about to ask Captain Adama to assign someone else, when he caught an angle in the Captain's face that strongly reminded him of Commander Adama.  The Captain wasn't just worried about his superior officer, he was worried about his father, and he looked exhausted, drained.  He had more important things on his mind than a lowly chief's mixed-up love life.  Tyrol asked, "Is there anything else, sir?"

"Just more thing.  Colonel Tigh is working on a way to relay messages to the Commander through the evening news broadcast.  Mr. Blanchard's going to pretend to be the Commander and Mother Elosha will choose some verses from the Scrolls.  We're not sure they'll even let him listen, but if there's no possible way for you to get that lock open, we can try to tell him to open it for us."

"I'll do my best, sir, but dockers on a commercial vessel, they're built for security.  It's going to be like trying to open a bank vault.  I hope you can make that message thing work."

"We can get that docker open for you, Captain."  Sharon seemed determine to disagree with everything Tyrol said.  Before they'd argued as a lovers' game.  It didn't feel like a game now.

Tyrol rose to go, but Sharon had one more question.  "Who's going to shoot out the gravity, sir?"

Captain Adama's jaw tightened.  "I am."

"Like hell you are."  Lieutenant Thrace had come up behind them.  "I'm twice as good a shot as you."

The Captain straightened up.  "Watch yourself, Lieutenant.  I said I'm going to do it and that's it."

Thrace snarled, "Yes, sir.  Captain Asshole, sir."

:j:j:j:j:j:j:j:j:j:j:j:j:j:j:j:j:j:j:j:j:j:

Life is made up of marble and mud.  Nathaniel Hawthorne, House of the Seven Gables

Another one of those eye-catching quotes.  Love does seem really mixed sometimes, doesn't it?  Send me a review and tell me what you think.


	8. Chapter 8

If you think looking in a mirror shows you what other people see, you'd better think again.  Jude Brattenberry Kobol, Fifteenth Lord of Kobol.

Adama glared at the locked hatch to the Star Chaser's bridge, furious with himself.  He should have anticipated losing the wireless transmitter, now he had no way to communicate with the Galactica.  Saul seemed to have something in mind, but command is a tough addiction to throw.  It burned Adama's ass that for two hours all he could do was wait.  The cut on his cheek was nothing in comparison.

If he were rational about it, waiting wasn't such a bad idea.  His ears still rang from the explosion in the passageway; and although Godden seemed tough, she must be close to her snapping point by now.  She'd been locked up with these crazies for days.

"Oh no!  Dehan?  Dehan?"  Adama spun around to see Commander Godden standing over a bunk and shaking a small boy-shaped form.  Suddenly a brown and black streak of spider cat leapt away.  On four of its six legs, it scampered across the deck and up onto a carpeted scratching post.  It sat there chittering and watching Godden as she tried to wake up her nephew.

Adama went over to the bunk and put a hand on her shoulder.  "What's the matter?  How is he?"

"He won't wake up!  I can't get him to open his eyes!  Oh Lords!  Holy Lords!  Wake up, darling!  Dehan, honey?"  She kept shaking the small form.  The boy looked to be about eleven or twelve, with the same bright red hair as his aunt, her strong flat facial planes, and the same slant-set eyes.

Bending over with two fingers on the boy's neck Adama checked his pulse.  It was strong, and his breathing was slow but regular.  He pulled up an eyelid.  The pupil contracted slowly in the cabin's muted light.  "He's been drugged.  Probably some of the same stuff they gave Graham's baboon.  He'll be okay.  He just has to sleep it off.  Was he giving them a bad time or something?"

"Dehan kept saying he was going to rescue us, but he really didn't do anything except talk.  The refugee evacuation kept us up all night and he was out on his feet.  A couple of Graham's goons hauled him away this morning and said they were just going to put him to bed.  I thought … I should have watched them.  But Graham was listening to Adama's morning broadcast and was on such a rip about that frakking artifact of his.  I thought he might try to do something crazy, break out of line, I don't know."  She hadn't taken her eyes off the boy's face.

The spider cat had already returned to sit at the corner of Dehan's bunk.  They were affectionate little things; most private spaceships kept either a spider or true cat to control vermin.  Although the Galactica set traps and poison, it was generally acknowledged that the cats were more effective.  Adama briefly wondered what the Cylons used.  It was one of those imponderables that humans would never know.

Commander Godden had calmed.  With shaking fingers she rubbed the moist film under her eyes.  "I'm . . . I'm sorry, Hush.  It's just that he's all that I have now.  I don't think I could go on without him."  She turned and waved a fist at a black glass porthole on the wall.  "You hear that you bastards?  I lose him and you'll get nothing out of me!"

"They're watching us?"  Oh frak, Adama thought, a surveillance set up.  That meant he couldn't even reassure Godden by telling her Galactica was preparing a rescue.

She nodded.  "Probably.  They were watching me for three or four days before they jumped me.  I was so stupid."  As Adama went to look at the camera cover, she explained, "My father used to take me and Karen on some of his long hauls.  He called it the 'babysitter.'  I just never took it out.  Actually, to tell the truth, when the Colonials are giving me a bad time it's kind of useful."

Adama grinned at her admission of a less than pure business career, but didn't comment.  He ran his fingers around the edge of the glass bubble, but they found no way to unfasten the cover.  "Can they hear us too?"

"Oh yeah.  Probably could hook in an infrared scan for that matter.  That Rainier's quite the techno-freak if you can get him out of his books."  Godden sighed.  Her back against the closest bulkhead, she slowly let herself slip down to sit on the deck.

Adama paced around, looking at the compact master cabin which had been heavily remodeled from a Colonial standard twelve.  Stainless steel cabinet doors covered the aft bulkhead probably concealing things like a closet, fold down tables and benches, maybe a sink and head.  A single-sized bunk as well as the spider cat's scratching post took up most of port.  Shallow, glass-enclosed shelving decorated starboard.  The shelves held a crazy miscellany of keepsakes -- a parade of dolls dressed in green and yellow-striped clown jumpers, pictures of people and stellar phenomena, also two gorgeous crystal clusters, one mottled deep red and another milky white.  There were other smaller things on the shelves that Adama couldn't see clearly without his glasses, unfortunately still in the pocket of coveralls back on the bridge.  The bridge hatch filled the forward bulkhead, and to either side of it hooks held spare ship clothes very similar to the gray-green coverall Commander Godden wore.  The clean, well-arranged quarters testified to her organizational skills.

Sitting on the deck, Godden looked even tinier than she had on her feet.  She was pale and drawn, probably dehydrated, Adama thought.  Crying will do that to you pretty fast, especially when you're already worn out.  "Commander Godden, ma'am, perhaps …"

"Oh Lords, Hush, call me Maya.  I got you into this, at the very least you can call me by my first name."

Adama laughed.  "You didn't get me into anything, ma'am … Maya.  This is my job.  But I do think we should rest while we can and frankly I could stand to use the head.  Do you have one in here?"

Maya looked up and her blue eyes searched his.  Her face actually relaxed a little and she smiled.  "You're quite the guy, aren't you?"  She waved at the cabinets in the aft bulkhead and said, "Furthest left, and be careful to keep the baffle closed.  Our septic's gotten a little backed up."

He walked over, pulled the cabinet door open, and as instructed, held the baffle latch tight as he folded down the bowl.  He glanced over his shoulder at Maya.  She was still watching him.  He raised his eyebrows.

"Sorry," Maya muttered and turned away.

A couple of minutes later he was kneeling back at her side with a cup of water he'd poured from the wash-up sink.  "You should try to drink this, ma'am … Maya.  Sorry I keep saying that."

She drank it down then thrust out an empty hand.  "Help me up, Hush."  Back on her feet, Maya tottered over to the sink, pulled a white cloth out of a nearby cabinet, moistened it, and returned to Adama's side.  "My only MedicKit's out there, but let me clean up that cut for you."  Standing so close that even Adama's weak eyes could see the black flecks floating in her blue irises, Maya gently dabbed at the cut on his cheek.  Finishing she tossed the cloth past Adama back at the sink, but she didn't move away.  One of her hands came up to stroke his face.  "How did this happen?" she asked.

Adama's hand went up to cover hers.  She meant the scars.  Not many people ever worked up the nerve to ask him, which had been one of the better things about being the commander of a battlestar.  The memories weren't good.  "Which one?"

A finger gently stroked the half-healed cut on his temple.  "How about this one?"

"Ragnar Ammunition Depot.  We were in such a hurry offloading ammo, we dropped a shell and it blew up."  Not the whole truth, but close enough.  There still were very few people cleared to know about Leoben Conoy.

Maya nodded, her eyes fixed on his face.  The small fingers dropped down to the havoc on his cheeks.  "And these?"

"Viper accident.  Ruined my eyes too."  They stood so close together that Adama could smell Maya's sweet breath and feel her body heat.  He couldn't look away.  Her eyes were half-closed, her lips half-opened.  He had to taste her.

She tasted good.  For a long minute stolen from kidnappers, Cylons and command responsibilities, Adama lived inside that kiss.  When he pulled away, his heart raced and his breath came fast.  His arms had wrapped around Maya and pulled her close.  She looked flushed.  Oh Lords.  He dropped his arms and stepped back.  "I'm sorry.  I didn't mean to do that.  It's just that it's been such a long time ..."

Maya ignored him.  Going to the aft bulkhead, she opened up the biggest cabinet.  A bed slowly folded out.  Of course!  If this had been family quarters, they would have put a spare bunk in here.  "Come on," she said.  "I think we'll both fit on this and I could use a nap."

Adama looked at the bunk, then at Maya, then at Dehan and finally at the camera porthole on the wall.

She laughed.  "I swear I'll keep my hands to myself.  But like you needed a kiss, I need a cuddle.  Please."

Adama still hesitated.  He'd never thought of himself as a prude, but if he lay down with a woman as beautiful as Maya, his body would react on its own.

"Come on, Hush," Maya continued to coax him.  "You're too old and I'm too tired to do anything but sleep."

"Too old?" Adama growled.  He took her hand and together, carefully, they lay down on the narrow mattress.

Maya didn't think Hush had believed her, but she truly just wanted to feel his warm body next to hers.  After spending most of her life sleeping in these narrow bunks, she knew how to take up just a sliver of sleeping space.  She told him to lie on his back and she curled up to his side.  Through his thin shirts and her coverall he felt warm.

To prove to the Chief that she had no sexual intentions, Maya started a random conversation.  "Do you ever see Commander Adama?  What's he like?"

The Chief's head rolled her way.  "He's okay, I guess.  Maya, there's something I should tell you …"

Certain that the Chief was going to tell her he was married or something equally disappointing, Maya said, "Shhh," and nodded at the camera porthole.  Graham might be watching, she implied, and it wasn't worth the risk.

Chief Husher's head rolled away again and he looked up at the overhead.  "Commander Adama's just a man, like every other man.  If it weren't for all the medals and ceremony, he could be anybody in a crowd."

"You don't like him.  That's surprising.  Everyone else I've talked to thinks there's him and then there's the Holy Lords."

"Just a man."  The Chief snugged her close and whispered, "Now be quiet and go to sleep."

And after another few minutes that's just what she did.

:o:o:o:o:o:o:o:o:o:o:o:o:o:o:o:o:o:o:o:o:o:o:

God is a verb.  Richard Buckminster Fuller, No More Secondhand God.

Now isn't that a thought-provoking idea?  What does that mean?  Send me a review and tell me what you think.


	9. Chapter 9

Since there is nothing more precious than freedom, when we give it to everyone we'll all be rich.  Gerhard Schwanitz Kobol, Tenth Lord of Kobol.

Galactica's normal space thruster engines took a half hour to power up from a cold start.  That's too long a delay in wartime, so the huge engines had been thrumming constantly, even when she cruised.  She'd always sung to Adama and he'd loved to listen.

The Star Chaser's engine had a song of its own, probably a typical twelve's ratcheting cough, but in her disguise as a dead grypen duck she'd powered down her normal space and ran on batteries.  Maya still had the attitude jets lit, but they were so scattered about the hull they made little sound.  Accustomed to Galactica's comforting rhythm, the silence had bothered Adama ever since he'd stepped onboard.

The Chaser would sing again, Adama told himself, and he wanted to hear it.  But first he had to get Maya and her nephew out of this.

Sitting down in the Chaser's co-pilot seat, he automatically checked the bank of status lights and the draedus.  The bridge's tight configuration put those practically in his face.  The status panel was a dance of red and green.  The draedus showed the surrounding fleet, or at least he thought it did.  Without his glasses, he couldn't be absolutely sure for something that close.

"Don't get any ideas, Chief," one of Graham's men told him.  Adama thought he was Canby.  Wynder had more hair and less of a drooling expression.  Wynder would be the one sitting on the watch bunk tending the unconscious Blakeney.  The two might be lovers, Wynder had been constantly solicitous of his wounded fellow goon.

Canby must have cleaned up the mess Graham made in the passageway.  He had Adama's service pistol in his belt, and his hands had black smudges.

"Just waiting for the frakking broadcast," Adama told him.  Maya sat opposite in the pilot's seat.  She seemed somewhat refreshed, although her face continued to look a bit tight and dark.  Adama's skin still felt her warmth and her scent still filled his head.

Maya held her nephew in her arms.  He'd begun to wake up just as Canby had come to fetch them.  The spider cat was nowhere to be seen and might be out hunting.

The chrono on the bulkhead said seventeen fifty-two.  Graham and the scientist -- was his name Rainier? – hung over the wireless console, muttering to each other.  Both wore the highly dangerous power pistols.  Adama wondered what rapacious weapons-dealer had sold Graham those.  The pistols were illegal in all twelve colonies.

Outside the Chaser's canopy, light from the bridge picked out the canards, antennas and draedus dish.  The convoy was cruising a full light year from the nearest sun.  The dim starlight of interstellar space barely revealed the Chaser's closest convoy neighbor, less than a quarter klick away.  Only the Galactica lit up her hull to assist Viper take-offs and landings.  She gleamed well ahead of them at about two o'clock -- to starboard and above their plane of flight -- like a beacon.

Adama felt a sudden pang of pride.  "I'd forgotten how magnificent she is.  I never get to see her from the outside."

Maya turned to see what he was looking at.  "Yeah, she's a great old bird.  I swear when she flew out ahead of us at Ragnar, I'd never seen anything so beautiful.  I almost didn't mind paying my taxes."  Her hand stroked Dehan's bowed back.

Adama laughed.  "You pay taxes?  Now that's hard to believe."

Maya seemed to be in too good a mood to take offense.  "I've been known to pay a port fee now and then."

They grinned at each other like old friends sharing a private joke.  Maya hugged her nephew close and kissed his forehead.

Graham clicked on the wireless.  It was time to listen to the news.

"Good evening, this is Commander William Adama on board the Colonial Battlestar seventy-five the Galactica at eighteen hundred of the eleventh day of our journey to Earth," Adama heard own voice say.  Startled, he had to think a moment.  Wasn't that Roslin's bureaucrat, Jerry somebody?  Oh frak, if Jerry knew about this catastrophe so did Madame President.  It'd take Adama years to live this down.  She'd probably want to chain him to a bulkhead.  It's what he'd do.  He resisted burying his head in his hands.

Jerry was delivering the standard cautions and warnings:  Don't space trash or sewage.  Keep power, water and food consumption low.  Let Galactica know immediately of operating problems.

Canby churned his hand in a circular motion.  "Yeah, yeah.  Get on with it."

"Please don't forget the gathering that Galactica will host as soon as the Kobol Dream returns, the precise day and hour to be announced.  We now have thirty-five commanders who plan to attend the party; and if all goes well, we can expect the Dream back tomorrow.  We will announce her arrival immediately and water distribution should be completed within another twenty-four hours.  In the meantime, call Colonial One on channel twenty-two if you are completely dry.  They will procure emergency drinking water for you.  Please, drinking water only."

Adama began to wonder if his announcements were as boring as Jerry's.

"A more immediate concern, however, is the Star Chaser.  She has declared engine failure and we will be pushing her out of line at precisely eighteen thirty."  Jerry paused and there was some noise off mike.  Then he continued, "Don't worry folks, she'll have Viper coverage while she shuts down for repair.  We're not leaving anyone behind."  He went on to give the Chaser's exact location in the convoy and the intended direction of her exit.

"Now we're getting somewhere," Graham muttered.  His cheeks had pinked up a little.

Dehan yawned, stretched and blinked sleepily.  He looked around with a puzzled look on his face.

"Finally, with this broadcast we begin a new program.  Mother Elosha, formerly the grand high priest at Caprica City Central Temple, is going to give us a reading from the Sacred Scrolls and a thought for the evening.  Mother?"

Mother Elosha was in on it too?  Oh frak, Adama thought.  "Thank you.  My reading this evening is from the Golden Scroll and the sayings of First Lord William Lester Kobol.  I believe you will find it especially appropriate, Commander Adama."  She paused and the microphone picked up the sounds of the scroll opening.  "Open your door to the traveler and render kindness to strangers.  Don't forget that tomorrow the stranger could be you.  It is a great responsibility for all of us, to care for and carry one another."  There was a snap as the scroll closed.

"Now that we're all travelers and strangers, let's not forget this important lesson.  We are carrying our future with us.  Let's leave the past behind.  Open your hearts to each other.  Nothing else will get us through.  I'm suggesting prayers for this evening as follows – four novas followed by one red star then a volley for each Lord.  And may they keep us all safe.  So say we all."  A murmur of "so say we alls" sounded in the background.

Mother Elosha's short sermon had been intended for him, Adama realized.  Open the door?  They needed him to release a hatch from the bridge.  And the prayers – four white stars arranged around a red one – the gravity symbol.  They'd understood his suggestion.  He hoped the volleys meant they planned to shoot it out because he couldn't do anything from the bridge.  All the gravity generator's controls were above its casement at the lowest point of the hull.  Although the generators were stable, they were difficult to adjust.  Once set, they were pretty much left alone.

"Make your call to the Galactica, Chief Husher," Graham said pulling out his power pistol again and waving it around with an insane grin on his face.  "We are going bye-bye."

Rainier skipped around in the narrow spaces between the consoles like a child at a picnic.  Adama couldn't decide which of them, Graham or Rainier, was more cracked.

"I need to get my glasses out of my coveralls."  Adama started to rise.

Up came the power pistol.  Adama sat back down.  "Canby, get them for him."  Frak!  He'd hoped to grab the miniature wireless.

The call to the Galactica didn't reveal much new, other than that Dee answered instead of Kara.  She or Lee would probably be piloting the Viper.

Dee told them to standby for a topside grapple.  Adama glanced at the status panel, looking for the topside hatch switch.  With his glasses on, the formerly blurred lights leapt out at him.  His mouth began to dry out.  Things could start happening any minute.

"Oh, who are you?" Dehan asked.  His eyes were open and fixed on Adama.

"A friend of your Aunt Maya's," Adama said and gave him what he hoped was a friendly smile.  The boy smiled back until he caught sight of Graham then he turned to hide his head against his aunt.  He was still too sleepy to act even a little grown up.

"Dehan, can you sit in the navigator's chair, honey?  I have to help Chief Husher here."  The boy looked ready to cry.  So did Maya.  "Please, honey?"

Outside the canopy Adama saw the dim instrument glow of a Viper cockpit.  It passed in front of them and then sunk below.  Adama ardently hoped they'd found a twelve schematic in Galactica's archives and knew where to shoot.

A vibration rang through the twelve's hull.  "Hello, Star Chaser.  This is Workhouse One and my call sign is Boomer.  I understand you need a little help.  I'm a little underpowered today so I'll need you to shoot your topside attitudes with me for a count of twenty then your bottom-sides to brake for a count of two."  It was an unfamiliar woman's voice.  Boomer?  Wasn't that Tyrol's girlfriend Valerii?

"We're ready and awaiting your count, Boomer," Maya answered, reaching for the controls.  She had the attention of all the kidnappers.  Adama slipped his hand toward the topside hatch switch.

"Okay then, on my mark."  Boomer made a slow count of three.  When she said, "Mark."  Maya fired her attitude rockets and Adama flipped the hatch switch.

At Kara's feet the Star Chaser's hatch slid open to reveal a well-lit corridor beneath.  Standing next to Kara, Lee nodded and smiled.  They wouldn't have to use Tyrol and Valerii's plan to short out the Chaser's docker.  Tyrol had given it only a slim chance of working.  Valerii had disagreed.  It was a relief not to have to settle their argument the hard way.  Pushing the electro-battery cart away from the Raptor's deck hatch, Tyrol secured it to the deck.

Kara resisted a desire to hug Lee.  She hadn't quite forgiven him for pulling rank in their argument.  It had been hard ass thing for him to do.  But he was, after all, his father's son.  Habits like that run in families, and she'd seen the Commander do it more than once.

"We've got an open hatch, Solomon," Lee said into the portable wireless in his combat helmet.  They'd had a hard time finding two helmets small enough for him and Kara.  Most of them were made for the Galactica's hulking Marines, which was ridiculous.  Nothing that big could possibly have a brain worth saving.  Captain Kelly and Tyrol had had better luck finding their brain buckets.  Those two great lumps being, of course, the exceptions that proved the rule.

"Roger that," Tigh's voice came back.  The Colonel had settled her and Lee's argument over piloting the Viper very neatly.  He'd taken the spot for himself, saying, "I can't slog in E.V.A. boots like the rest of you and we're not letting anyone else in on this circus!"

Lee had protested that, but Tigh had come back with, "If the old man can have a little fun, so can I.  I was flying Vipers before you were born, son.  And I'm still qualified.  Check your pilot roster."

"Bastard," Lee had muttered when Tigh had turned away.  Lee was finally beginning to understand why she hated Tigh so much.

Tigh had relented on his "no new faces" policy and brought in Captain Kelly, who unlike the rest of this frakking half-baked rescue party, had some security experience.  But Tigh had absolutely refused to use Galactica's Marines, an intelligent choice in Kara's opinion -- he must be off the bottle today.  Mother Elosha had been close to Tigh in the war-room all afternoon which probably explained his sudden drying out.  He had looked a little sick, but calm.  No shakes or other visible withdrawal symptoms.

Everyone carried hard shot pistols and sonic grenades on their belts.  Tyrol had an electro-scrambler for the bridge controls if needed, Kelly a fireball pistol, as lethal as Graham's power pistols but less indiscriminate.  Kara and Lee both carried rapid-fires.

Tyrol had removed the tracers and explosive heads from the first three shots in the Viper's starboard cannon.  They didn't want the other ships in the convoy to see their rescue and get the wrong idea so Tigh would have only cockpit light to pick his target.  He'd have to fire into the Chaser's gravity generator almost blind, and he had to do it carefully to minimize any contact flash.  If he didn't get it right, Kara planned to organize a mutiny.  Tigh didn't have big enough balls to command the Galactica.

On the trip out, she and Lee had talked about what they might expect to find on the Chaser.  The Commander's miniature wireless still fed them nothing but a rumble.  At first they'd thought it engine noise, but Dee had decided that it could be interference from wiring under the deck plates or even the plates themselves as people walked about.  A fifty-year-old ship develops all kinds of quirks, witness the Galactica, which on a bad day could groan like an old woman.

For some reason Kelly and Tyrol had spent the entire short trip glowering at each other, which really didn't make much sense.  Generally the two were good friends.  Lieutenant Valerii had sat in the pilot's seat in stony silence, her back turned.  Every time Tyrol spoke to her, she snarled.

Valerii had almost finished her count of twenty.  " . . . seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty.  Cutting my engines now.  Please fire your bottom-sides for two."

They'd cleared the convoy, still traveling along with it in the same direction, but now a half klick below its plane of flight.

The engine roar stopped but the two ships stayed locked together.  Nice, Kara thought.  Very nice touch on the controls.  This Valerii's good.  Must be half machine herself.

Tigh was now supposed to give them another count of twenty before he fired.

With Lee in the lead, their rescue party of four dropped onto the deck.  The hatch above banged shut as a safety measure in case Tigh's shot knocked the Raptor loose.  Lee trotted down the passageway in what Kara hoped was the right direction, with her, Tyrol and Kelly following.  Gravity still held them to the deck so their boots' electromagnets were turned off.  After a few meters they reached an intersection.  Two black streaks on the deck led off down the passageway.

"This way," Lee said and beckoned them on.

Tigh reveled in the feel of the Viper around him.  It felt like home, more so than even the Galactica.  The dimly seen starlit hull of the Star Chaser slipped by as he sunk down to her base.

Lords, he hoped their schematics were right.  This bulge at the Chaser's base was supposed to be the gravity generator.  He chose an oblique angle and unlocked his trigger, setting it for single shot.  On the instrument panel he pulled down the switch that locked out the port cannon.

Over the wireless Valerii's count had reached twenty, around Tigh the bottom-side attitudes briefly fired plumes of white.  Taking a deep breath, Tigh started a count of his own.

It went by too fast.

With a final, "Lords be with us," he fired three shots.

Maya had hoped never to hear it:  a sharp crack followed by a deep groaning in the fabric of the Chaser's hull, the sympathetic resonation that comes from a hard hit.  Something had punched the Chaser in the gut, and she was crying from the pain.

Maya listened for the roaring and screaming sounds of escaping atmosphere or the crash of collapsing bulkheads.  There was none.  That meant no hull breach.

She looked toward the status lights on Chief Husher's side of the panel.  Amazingly nothing showed.  Wait.  There was something – the gravity generator.  Its diode flashed urgent red.

The Chief wasn't looking at the board.  He'd thrown away his glasses and had eyes only for Graham and his power pistol.  Graham himself was looking around the bridge trying to identify the source of the odd sound.

The Chief jumped to his feet.  "What was that?" he said loudly.  "Did that workhorse break something?"

"Oh sweet Lords!" Rainier screamed.  The Chaser's damaged gravity generator was failing, and he'd started floating up from the deck.  Unwisely he began waving his arms and legs, knocking Graham off the deck and into a spin.  They grabbed onto each other, legs to face and flapped around in mid-air like a mixed-up ornithopter.

Maya cried to Dehan, "Get on the deck!"  If any of the pistols went off, there would be little safety.  Looking with wide, fearful eyes at the men floating around, Dehan tried to follow Maya's orders but he started to float up too.

Canby, still standing tentatively on the deck, had the Colonial hard shot pistol out.  He screamed, "What the frak is going on?" and fired a random shot in the direction of Chief Husher.  Ricocheting with showers of sparks off the instrument panel and two bulkheads, it buried itself in something, possibly the wireless console.  The pistol's recoil knocked Canby through the air in the direction of the starboard bulkhead.  The pistol fell out of his hands as he flailed for a handhold.

Dehan's spider cat dropped down on Canby's face.  She'd seemed to come out of nowhere, but had probably been prowling a ventilation duct.  Graham's goons had been teasing her unmercifully for the last few months, and apparently she'd decided on some revenge.  Or maybe the zero g had freaked her.

Wynder just clung to Blakeney's bunk, trying to keep them both stable.

Chief Husher braced his feet against the back of the co-pilot's seat and launched himself at the Graham and Rainier tangle.  Maya didn't see what happened to him because she was working herself hand over hand to Dehan who floated above the navigation console.

Fine dust, sand, lint and hair from the deck filled the air, but Maya didn't take time to scold herself for sloppy housekeeping.  She had Dehan's arm and, desperate to get him safely out of the line of fire, took off for the master cabin's open hatch using the console for her launch pad.

They both made it into the master cabin and as they flew through the hatch, gravity suddenly came back.  They dropped to the deck, landing on their stomachs with matching grunts.

Maya scrambled to her feet, pulling Dehan up with her.  Tugging him to the bunk, she said, "Dehan, sweetheart, I want you to lie down here and hold on."  Like all furniture on the Chaser, the bunk was bolted to the deck.  Even in zero g, Dehan wouldn't float away.

"Aunt Maya, you can't go back out there!" Dehan cried.  He held onto her hand tightly.  Just last week Dehan had lost both his parents.  He didn't want to lose his aunt too.  Maya could see the question in his blue eyes -- "Who'll take care of me if you're gone?"

From kneeling by the bunk, Maya began to float up.  The gravity was coming and going in waves.  She grabbed a rail.  "It'll be okay, sweetie.  I swear it will be okay.  Just hold on to the bunk and stay put.  I'll be right back."  She turned and pushed herself away toward the hatch.

The confusing scene back on the bridge had multiplied.  Four new players in combat uniforms and helmets had come on stage, actually walking around on the deck among the floating men.  Suspended in about the middle of the bridge compartment Chief Husher had captured Graham and had the old man's arms locked behind his back.  Graham flopped about in his hold like an empty sack of skin.

The biggest of the new Colonials had Rainier, who kicked the air spasmodically like a dying rat.  Another had Wynder covered.  Wynder seemed to have wisely given up without a fight.  He just held on to the watch bunk and Blakeney.  A third Colonial was trying to untangle Canby from the spider cat, but without much luck.  Every time he got two of her legs loose, another pair took hold.  The cat had scratched Canby's face deeply.  Red droplets of blood floated away to splash against the bulkhead and send out an even finer spray.

The fourth Colonial walked around snatching things out of the air – power pistols, Chief Husher's glasses, tags and coveralls, the military pistol that Canby had used, several empty coffee cups, pencils, papers and route books.  It was a mess.

It was over.

"Hush, did you have to put a hole in my ship?" Maya asked.

He just laughed.  Handing the limp Graham over to the big Colonial, the Chief launched himself her way.  "Come on, Maya.  Let's check on Dehan.  He must be worried sick."

Chief Tyrol followed Commander Adama into the sleeping compartment just off the Star Chaser's bridge.

The Commander and the Star Chaser's Commander, her name was Godden, had both put on E.V.A. boots.  Godden was having a hard time with them.  She didn't mass enough to pull them easily free.  When the little boy had rode around on her back that had helped, but Lieutenant Thrace had taken him and his pet spider cat up to the Raptor to meet Sharon.  At least the Raptor had gravity.  Tyrol wasn't all that fond of zero g himself.

The kid reminded Tyrol sharply of Boxey and that made him think of his earlier argument.  There was nothing in the universe Tyrol wanted more than a wife and family, but if Sharon didn't want him, then he had to move on.

Captain Kelly had locked all the kidnappers into a compartment and offered jokingly to throw away the key.  The Chaser's compartments had no keys, just lock pads.  Kelly had then hauled all their unused ordnance back to Sharon's Raptor.  They should have known the Commander would have everything under control.

After a few waves of temporary gravity, the generator had completely conked out.  Everything in the Star Chaser not tied down floated in mid-air.

But it looked like the whole frakking mess might just turn out okay, except for losing Suben, of course.  Damn, that was going to add to the workload.

The Commander wanted Tyrol to explain to Godden what needed to be done to repair the Chaser.

"Commander Godden, ma'am," Tyrol said and stuck out his hand.  He didn't have to salute.  She wasn't military.

"My, are all the chiefs on Galactica handsome, Hush?" Godden asked as she took Tyrol's hand.  She was looking at Commander Adama and smiling.

"Only the best ones, ma'am," the Commander assured her.  He had a really big grin on his face.

Tyrol didn't know what to make of that.  Although confused, he plowed on.  "We're going to fly the Star Chaser into the Galactica's starboard landing pod and repair her there.  I think your gravity generator will be no problem if we can scrounge enough refined copper together.  You might even have enough on board yourself.  It probably will take only a few pounds."

The Commander picked up the explanation.  "In the meantime the Raptor up on topside will take you and Dehan to stay on the Tall Doll.  I'm going to ride in with the Chaser to make sure she docks okay.  You do trust Apollo to pilot your ship, don't you?"

Captain Adama was already at the Star Chaser's bridge controls starting a power up.  According to Godden there'd been never been anything wrong with any of her engines.

For some reason the news that her ship would soon be repaired didn't make Godden entirely happy.  She probably hated to see the Star Chaser in military hands, Tyrol thought.  The Commander had said she was a long-time free trader.  They hated any kind of government official.  Tyrol changed his mind about that when Godden said to Commander Adama, "Oh, then this is goodbye, isn't it, Chief Husher?"

Chief Husher?  Godden still thought Commander Adama was a chief petty officer.

The Commander had a guilty look.  "Ma'am, Maya, there's something I really should …"

"You're not married are you, Hush?"

The Commander shook his head.  "Divorced, long time ago."

"Then don't tell me, please.  Let an old lady hold on to her romantic dreams for a while."

Tyrol felt like he was eavesdropping but he was afraid to move.  Godden had taken one of the Commander's hands and brought it up to rub her face.  He didn't resist, just gently stroked her cheek.  She looked very tired and very sad.

"If this is goodbye, then could I ask for another …"  Godden paused for a second.  Something obviously had occurred to her.  "You know, if Commander Adama will still have me, I want to go that party of his and I need a date.  I was wondering if you'd like to go with me?"  She looked up at the Commander.

As odd as the situation was, Tyrol had no desire to laugh.  When Sharon had looked at him like that, he'd always given her what she wanted.  He understood completely when the Commander after a long moment said, "Sure.  I'd be happy to."

When Godden slowly walked over to the bunk to get her bag, struggling with unpracticed steps against the grip of the E.V.A. boots, the Commander looked away from her to glare at Tyrol.  Tyrol quickly found somewhere else to rest his eyes.

:u:u:u:u:u:u:u:u:u:u:u:u:u:u:u:u:u:u:u:

Every drop of ink in my pen ran cold.  Horace Walpole

Another great quote, although in my case it's a keyboard.  Drop me a line and tell me what you think of my story.


	10. Chapter 10

Everyday life happens every day, but soon the every days will be all gone so use them the while you can.  Shambhala Bradbury Kobol, Twelfth Lord of Kobol.

"So, have you been cured of your wanderlust, Commander?" President Roslin asked.  A gentle smile took some of the sting out of her words.  Soft pink spots dotted both cheeks, either from make-up or better blood pressure than yesterday.

She was justified, Adama knew, but he didn't intend to admit it.  He valued his freedom, and he and President Roslin were still jockeying for control.  Continuing with the incident report, he said, "Garner Graham and Amoss Rainier are in the Galactica sick bay under sedation for the time being, one of their henchmen, Blakeney too.  But the doctor's say he'll be on his feet in a week.  The other two I'm keeping in my brig until I decide what to do with them.  Maybe when you get that government going, they can be your first court trial."

President Roslin nodded slowly.  Perhaps she hadn't considered the harsher aspects of government -- law enforcement, courts and sentencing.

Adama continued, "As for the Star Chaser herself, she'll be in dry dock for another three days then you can reload passengers and crew.  She had a complement of thirty before, but she's good for up to one hundred fifty with a little remodeling and some work on the septic.  Chief Tyrol's already taking care of that.  I think Maya won't mind carrying a bigger crowd.  She seems to be a people sort of person."

"Ah, yes, Commander Godden.  Is she cooperating?"

"What do you mean, Laura – 'cooperating'?"

The President's aide-de-camp, Billy, had pushed a serving cart down the aisle of Colonial One's passenger cabin and stopped next to them.  "Coffee, Commander?" he asked.

Adama accepted one with sugar.  He sipped a mouthful that washed across his taste buds like honey.  Colonial One's coffee was a lot better than Galactica's.  They must still have packets of the gourmet blends.

"Mr. Keikeya," he said, "if you have any more of this nectar, could you shoot some over to us?  Our galley is in a frenzy trying to put together a decent menu for the party tomorrow."

Billy said he'd check with the stewardesses and that they might still have some liquor too.

Before Billy rolled away, he handed President Roslin a slip of folded paper.  Adama sipped his coffee appreciatively while she read it.  Looking up again, she answered his question.  "Sorry about that.  What I meant was, has Godden agreed to keep her mouth shut?  I'm not sure how our citizens would react if the whole story got out.  It's bad enough they know about Graham, but if they knew you were involved …"

The Commander made a deprecating gesture with his hand and shook his head to indicate insignificance.  The President over-rode him with, "You don't understand, Hush, because you're not a politician.  If we were back on Caprica and doing approval polls, you'd get something like ninety percent.  People are not only praying _for_ you, they're praying _to_ you!"

President Roslin looked envious and maybe a little irritated.  Adama felt overwhelmed.  "Well, you can tell them I don't plan on dying anytime soon so it won't do them any good."  Only the dead could be added to the sacred pantheon of Lords.  "Maybe this whole Earth charade wasn't such a good idea.  Mother Elosha must be pissed."

"No, she's not, but she prays for you and your whole crew every day.  She's going to the party with Colonel Tigh, you know."

"No, I didn't.  The old dog."  There were a lot of locker room stories about Kobol priests.  They were trained in sexual pleasuring techniques, supposedly to counsel parishioners, but according to the stories, the training was often put to other uses.

Adama had seen Tigh only briefly the night before after the Star Chaser finished docking in the starboard landing pod.  Tigh had worn one of his patented "I-told-you-so" faces.  Adama had taken one look at him and said, "Oh, shut up."

Putting down his empty coffee cup, Adama said to President Roslin, "Well, to answer your question about Maya, she doesn't even know that I am Commander William Adama.  She thinks I'm a chief petty officer named Husher."

President Roslin did a take off that.  "You're going to our party with a woman who doesn't even know who you are?  Oh my, and I thought my problems were bad."  She began to laugh.

Trying not to laugh with her, after all it was going to be a very touchy problem to resolve, Adama asked, "How did you know that?"

President Roslin was still laughing.  She couldn't seem to get it under control.  Waving the slip of paper Billy had handed her, she gasped, "I've got spies everywhere."

Adama did not want to think who they might be, although he suspected one of them was his own son.  Still grieving his mother, yesterday Lee had been upset about Maya and the party.  "Well, I'll figure something out and I'm sure Maya will be discreet.  Now, about the Kobol Dream.  She's offloading her water at the Galactica right now, and you'll be next."  They talked a few minutes more about schedules and the agenda for tomorrow's party.  As Adama left, President Roslin called after him, "Thanks, Hush."

He turned and asked, "What for?"

"The first real laugh I've had this week.  Keep safe."  President Roslin actually looked better than when Adama had arrived.  She had a big relaxed smile and a twinkle in her eye.

"You can count on that, ma'am."  With a grin Adama threw her a casual salute and hurried on his way.  Colonial One had to undock from the Galactica and move off so she could receive her water quota.  Her people were already filling up laundry bags and pulling out bars of soap.

With the Kobol Dream back, everyone, Adama included, was in for a busy day doing a week or more of wash as well as other things.

Adama had to call CIC to run down Chief Tyrol's location, but he finally found him at the port aft cargo hatch where the Kobol Dream had docked.  A huge translucent hose, about a quarter-meter in diameter, ran through the open air lock and down the passageway, only to turn and snake down a stairwell.  Adama could see water running through and heard it bubbling and gurgling.

With an "Attention on deck!" Tyrol's crew popped upright as Adama walked up.  He returned their salute.  "As you were.  How's it going, Chief?"

Tyrol looked even more frayed around the edges than yesterday.  He'd probably put an all-nighter into the Star Chaser after yesterday's entertainment.  Except for that woman of his, nothing fascinated the Chief more than a new toy.

"It's going to take at least an hour, sir.  The Dream can't kiss our external water valve, so we're hosing it down.  But we've got gravity working for us, sir."  Tyrol looked to be stifling a grin at his weak joke.

Adama rolled his eyes.  He was never going to live this down.  "What about the rest of the fleet?"

"A mixed bag, but I think we can make your twenty-four hour promise if the other ships take their drinks two at a time.  Specialist Socinus here is going with Commander Smith to help with the connections."  Tyrol jerked his thumb at Socinus who was talking to the portly dark-haired Smith just inside the airlock.  Adama went to greet the tanker commander.

"Commander Smith!" Adama said and held out a hand.  Smith's hand felt clammy and he had a dewlap under his chin that wobbled when he spoke.  "How was your flight?  Any problems?"  Socinus went to talk with Tyrol.

Smith shook his head, which flapped his dewlap.  "We found that gas giant right where your Lieutenant Gaeta said it'd be.  There were twelve moons, however.  The giant hides three of them from this angle."

At their feet the hose made an especially loud gurgle and shifted.  They stepped away.  "Like Gaeta said, one of the moons had a liquid water core.  We just drilled a hole and pumped her right out.  Those Cylons come looking, they're not going to find much.  We plugged it up all nice."

President Roslyn had said Adama wasn't a politician.  He felt a need to prove her wrong.  "Well, I know that I speak for the entire crew of Galactica not to mention the rest of the fleet when I say that you, sir, are my hero.  I plan to take a ten-minute shower this evening!"

Smith smiled but above his lips the eyes looked shiny and tearful.  "No, Commander Adama, you and your crew here on the Galactica, you're all my heroes.  I lost my wife and two sons on Geminon and anything I can do to help fight the frakking Cylons, even if it's just hauling water, is an honor for me.  Everyone on my ship feels the same."  He kicked at the hose, which fortunately was made of sturdy plastic and was too heavy with water to shift much.

Adama still forgot sometimes how much everyone had lost.  He clapped his hand on Smith's beefy shoulder.  "You're a good man, Commander.  We're still working on getting you that gunship escort.  You be sure and come to our party tomorrow, okay?"

Smith nodded.  "Okay, sir, you bet."

Socinus came back hauling a large armful of assorted aluminum connecting-collars.  He and Smith boarded the Dream.

Adama gestured for Tyrol to come close.  "Chief, I wanted to tell you personally how sorry I am about Suben.  I know the work is going to really pile on you now."

"Yes, sir.  It's okay, sir."  Two sirs in two sentences.  Tyrol must really be groggy.

Adama continued, "I have a proposal that I think you might like."

Tyrol had been watching the water hose.  He looked up.  "Sir?"  Another sir --Tyrol was dead on his feet.

"We're going to need someone to head up a repair and maintenance division for the whole fleet.  I'm not sure yet whether President Roslin will want a civilian, but I do know that it will have to be one of our best.  I was thinking of you."

Tyrol looked stunned.  "You mean you want me to resign?"

"No, Chief, I want you to take the job and I'll fight to make sure it stays military."

When Tyrol didn't speak, Adama brought in his biggest motivation.  "It means a commission, Tyrol.  You can marry your lieutenant."

Tyrol still didn't jump at it.  That surprised Adama.  Something must have changed since Tyrol's marriage request had landed on his desk.  "Can I think about it, sir?"

"Yes, of course.  In the meantime, I want you at the party tomorrow, okay?  Bring a date."  Adama turned to move off.

"Commander, sir?" Tyrol called after him.

Adama turned back again.

"Can I bring a non-com. to the party?  It's kind of short notice and all."

"Bring anyone you want, Chief."

On a roll now, Adama gingerly stepped over Tyrol's water hose and took off in the direction of CIC.  He didn't get very far.  He seldom did when he walked Galactica's passageways.

"Oh, Commander Adama!" a woman's voice called from behind him.  It was the priest Mother Elosha.

"Yes, holy Mother.  I wasn't aware you were still aboard."

"Colonel Tigh asked me to stay and help prepare for the party tomorrow."  The Mother hugged a large flat box in her arms.

"Oh, I see.  Well, we're grateful for anything you can do.  So is there something I can help you with?"  Adama didn't mean to be abrupt, but the holy Mother seemed to have something on her mind.

"Well, I'm looking for Lieutenant Thrace.  I've got a present for her."

A present for Kara?  Of all Adama's rescuers yesterday, only Kara had been openly amused.  "I think she may be out on Viper patrol.  What do you have there?"

"It's a party dress.  Colonel Tigh asked me to find a home for it and I thought … well, I understand that he and Lieutenant Thrace are at odds a great deal."

"I know you mean well, Mother Elosha, but Kara would never accept a gift from Saul."

"But it wouldn't be from him, Commander.  It would be from me.  It really is a beautiful dress.  The Colonel bought it for his wife, and I just think it would do his heart good to see it on Lieutenant Thrace."

"May I see?"  Elosha opened her box a few inches to reveal sparkling red feminine things, almost like a box filled with fire.  Long silky straps and fine chains of gleaming red beads threatened to fall out.  It would be a shame to let such beauty go to waste.  Adama relented.  "I tell you what we could do.  Let's put it in her locker and let her try to figure out where it came from.  You know the old saying – gift rockets burn just as hot as any other kind.  I think she'll wear it."

Only a short detour brought them to the women pilots' quarters.  Everyone who was awake and off-duty was either in the showers or doing personal laundry so the compartment contained only sleeping women.  It took a while to figure out which locker belonged to Kara.

Adama felt a little silly, like the Gift Horse in Caprica's mid-winter celebration.  Mother Elosha, however, seemed pleased.

The things a command officer had to do.

Because it was still his watch, Adama resisted the temptation to stop in his quarters and take a shower.  Colonel Tigh was asleep, or at least he should be, if he wasn't taking a shower like everyone else.

At last stepping into CIC, Adama nodded to Captain Kelly to let him know he was taking the bridge.  Kelly saluted and left in a hurry for who knows where.  Dualla handed Adama a stack of flimsies.  "Anything I should know, Dee?"

"We have one hundred percent of the commanders committed to the party, sir.  And the Sunrise Edition has volunteered her shuttle, which will help a lot.  The off-ship attendance count is at a hundred and ten, including President Roslin's party from Colonial One."  Dualla paused.  She looked a little bashful.  "Commander Godden is coming too, sir.  She sent a message to Chief Husher.  I put it in your stack."

Frak, Adama thought, everyone on the whole ship must know.  Putting on his glasses, he riffled through the papers and found Maya's message.  Short and simple, it said, "Tall Doll has welcomed us with open arms.  I arrive on Galactica at 1200 tomorrow.  Track me down when you can.  Maya."

Dualla still stood looking at Adama expectantly.  "Send her a message from Chief Husher, Dee.  Tell her … uhm, tell her that I'm looking forward to seeing her and that I say 'hi' to Dehan."

"Yes, sir."  Adama began to read some of the other flimsies.  "Uh, sir?"  He looked up.  "Billy Keikeya, you know, President Roslin's aide, has asked me to the party and I've arranged for a short shift tomorrow.  I was thinking … I thought maybe I could sort of meet Commander Godden at the airlock and help her get ready.  That is, if you weren't planning to, sir.  She won't know anyone and she probably just has the clothes on her back.  Chief Brendan's putting together some party clothes and uniforms for our guests, but I thought if Miss Godden had some help …"  Dualla's voice trailed off but her implication was clear, "She's your date, Commander Adama.  Let me help her be beautiful for you."

Adama wanted to have some privacy when Maya discovered who he was.  In fact, from what he'd seen of her yesterday, he probably should wear a bulletproof vest.  "Dee, that would be just wonderful.  Thank you.  Do you know what she looks like?"

"Petite, red hair, slant-set blue eyes.  Very striking.  Very lively," Dee said promptly.  "Lieutenant Gaeta told me."

"Gaeta?"

"Yes, sir.  He heard it from Specialist Campbell, who heard it from Lieutenant Rogers, who heard it from …"

"That's enough, Dee."  Apparently, everyone on the whole ship knew about Maya or soon would.  Oh frak.  So much for the dignity of command.

:y:y:y:y:y:y:y:y:y:y:y:y:y:y:y:y:y:y:y:y:y:y:y:

The applause of a single human being is of great consequence.  From Boswell, Life of Johnson

Need I say more?  Please tell me what you think.


	11. Chapter 11

In romance, the shortest distance between two points is frequently a curveball.  Adam Skjei Kobol, Fourth Lord of Kobol.

The smell of fresh coffee woke up Chief Tyrol.  With a grunt, he straightened in his desk chair and raised both arms overhead for an aching stretch.  Damn, he'd fallen asleep over the paperwork again.

"Here ya go, Chief," a young voice said and a small hand holding a full cup of brown liquid magically materialized before him.

Tyrol glanced up at the owner of the hand but didn't take the coffee.  "Thanks, Cal.  What are you doing here?  Aren't you supposed to be working on the Star Chaser's grav?"

Specialist Cally put the coffee and a plate of white bread sandwiches down on Tyrol's paper-piled desk.  Since Chief Prosna had died last week, she'd been tagging after Tyrol like a three-year old.  Cally used to be on Prosna's crew and they'd been close, although so far as Tyrol knew, never lovers.  After Prosna died protecting Cally in a landing pod fire, Tyrol had spent more than a few hours serving as her crying towel, but he didn't mind.  If he'd lost Sharon for good, he would have needed one himself.

They all had to get through this any way they could.

"The grav's all done," Cally said.  "She still needs to power up in zero g for adjustments, but I've gone as far I can with her in the landing bay."

Cally's team had started the six-hour job just as Tyrol had sat down at his desk.  "Done?  How long have I been out?"  He wagged his neck back and forth, trying to make it loosen up.

"Five hours.  You should try one of these sandwiches.  Chief Deuch's been busy with the party and all, but he says these are pretty good, and the coffee too.  It's off Colonial One.  Mucho primo!"  Cally picked up a sandwich and began gobbling it in huge, mouth-stuffing bites while she stood by Tyrol's desk.  Like most of the deck crew, she'd spent the last week and a half at a dead run.  "So, what do you want us to do now?" she asked around a mouthful, although it had sounded more like, "Whuf chew whamf chush-oo ow?"

"No wonder my neck hurts.  Uh, why don't you just have some lunch with me for a minute while I think?"  Cally pulled up a chair and began to eat a little more slowly, her ponytail bobbing up and down with each chew.  She must have found time for a shower recently.  The dark build-up of grease on her freckled face had disappeared.

She took a sip out of the coffee cup.  "You really ought to try this coffee, Chief.  It is beyond excellent."

Tyrol looked at the plate of sandwiches.  He didn't really feel much like eating, but he hadn't felt like sleeping either until his body had conked out on him.  He probably should make the effort.  Losing Sharon to Captain Kelly didn't have to be the end his universe.  He was still a Colonial and a damned good one.  Picking up a sandwich, he took a bite.  It tasted like sawdust.  Mechanically he chewed and swallowed then sipped coffee from Cally's cup.  It really was an improvement.  "I can't remember my schedule, Cally.  What watch are you working tomorrow?"

"Same as today, second."  Sixteen-hundred to twenty-four.

"I've been ordered to the Commander's party."  He looked at her to see what she'd make of that.

Cally swallowed her current mouthful and said, "So I heard.  Hey, congrats on the promotion!  I hope you'll remember us grease monkeys when you're flying up forward with the bigwigs."

Tyrol had learned a long time ago there were few secrets on a battlestar.  He ignored the congratulations, mostly because they weren't in order yet.  He'd lost Sharon and he didn't want to be a pencil pusher.  The promotion hadn't been clinched.  At the moment Tyrol was focusing on the short term, namely tomorrow night.  "I was wondering if you'd like to go with me to the party.  I'll ask Delmonico to swap watches with you."

That stopped Cally's chewing.  She just looked at him, her cheeks puffed out like a Picon squirrel carrying a load of seeds.  After a moment she began chewing again and swallowed.  In a low voice she asked, "Not that I wouldn't like to go, but what about Sharon, I mean Lieutenant Valerii?  Has something happened?  You said were going to ask for permission to marry her."

Tyrol had forgotten he'd told Cally about that.  She'd been crying very hard that time and he'd tried to distract her by asking for advice.  It had worked too.  She'd perked right up.

"Sharon's asked Captain Kelly to the party."

"And you didn't try to change her mind because …?"  Once you ask someone for advice, they think they own your life.

Tyrol took another bite and chewed in silence.  Pine sawdust, he thought.  Or maybe northern spike-needle.  It sure didn't taste like bread and sandwich filling.  Tyrol hadn't tried to change Sharon's mind because she didn't want to get married.  She'd found herself someone else, a someone who was more appropriate for a commissioned officer, and, Tyrol had to admit, who was a damned nice guy to boot.

Cally put down the last of her sandwich.  Only two more monster bites would have finished it off, but it looked as though Cally had something to say.  "I know it's none of my business, but you are so lucky.  Sharon's still alive.  And I know … I know if Proz were still here, nothing would stop me from fighting to keep him.  I used to think we had all the time in the universe, but with this war and the Cylons, we're lucky if we've got tomorrow."

Cally had turned into quite the little philosopher, but Tyrol wasn't about to be moved.  If he shifted even a little, he'd crack his foundations and fall apart.  "Do you want to go to this party, Cal?"

"Do you love her, Chief?"

"Yes or no, Cal?"  Tyrol had given up eating more of the sawdust sandwich, but he still held it in his hands.  He looked down at the sagging pieces of white bread and tried to will Cally to say yes.  Sharon would be at the party and Tyrol couldn't bear to go alone.  She'd laugh at him, or worse yet, give him one of those long, slow pitying looks.

"Yeah, I'll go."

"Well, are you going to keep me here all evening?" Kara asked looking past Lee into the double compartment he shared with Captain Kelly.  She had a large flat box in her arms.  "Come on, let me in!"

Lee had not been expecting Kara.  He pulled the large towel he wore around his waist closer and tied a knot at his hip.  "Yeah, sure come on in.  Kell's out doing our laundry.  What do you need?"

Kara slipped through the hatch and closed it behind her.  It looked like she'd just been showering too.  Blonde hair clung to her forehead in damp strands and she was wearing a heavy robe.  Throwing the box she carried on Kelly's bunk, she looked around the narrow quarters and said, "Wow, quite the spread you got here, unlike us lowly lieu's."  She stepped through the hatch into the tiny combination head and shower.  "I'm seriously impressed.  Curtains, a few pillows, could be just like home."

"Perks of command," Lee told her.  "Kara, what do you need?"  He still hadn't quite retrieved his equanimity after yesterday's scare over his father and was in no mood to play verbal sparring games.  Plus the humor in this whole thing with Commander Godden completely escaped him.  He couldn't giggle with everyone else because he kept thinking of his mother, whom he'd seen just before leaving for Galactica's de-commissioning ceremony.  In his mind she was still alive.

Kara had returned to Kelly's bunk.  "First, I want to say 'thank you.'  I don't know where you got it from, but it's beautiful."  She gave Lee, who had been trying to keep his distance, a quick peck on the cheek.  "I thought I'd have to wear my dress uniform but this is just gorgeous!"

It was also confusing.  "What's gorgeous, Kara?  Would you please talk sense?"

She opened her box and fire leapt out at Lee.  "Wow!  Where did you get that?"

Kara looked disappointed.  "You didn't give it to me?"  Lee shook his head.  "Oh frak!  I was sure it was you.  I found it in my locker after patrol.  None of the girls knew where it came from."

It was certainly an eyeful.  Kara picked up the sparkling dance of red by a couple of long narrow pieces.  A complicated tangle of straps, beads and chains hung down.  "The problem is, Lee, it's some kind of designer creation thing and I don't have a clue how to put it on.  Could you help me figure it out?  Sorta do a test flight so I don't screw it up tomorrow?"  Her eyes were wide and pleading.

On the verge of suggesting that Kara find help among the other women pilots, Lee changed his mind.  She looked genuinely worried.  He couldn't remember ever seeing her in a dress, not even when she'd been dating his brother Zak.  And, of course, he knew her reputation as a hard ass.  Hard asses don't fuss with party clothes.  Since Kara was tackling this at his request, the least he could do was help.

"Okay, but let me get some pants on."

After donning a pair of duty pants in the head, he returned to find Kara stripped down to her Colonial green skivvies, pulling things out of her box and arranging them on both beds.  Her soft pink curves of flesh moved in interesting ways, and blonde hair glistened in the light.  "Uh, maybe I'd better dog the hatch.  Wouldn't want to give Kell a nasty surprise."

Kara looked over her shoulder.  "Nasty, huh?  I'll have you know I just scrubbed my entire body for ten minutes in the shower.  I haven't been this clean since I was born."

Grateful he'd put on his duty pants, Lee went to dog the hatch.  He returned to Kara's side but carefully kept his distance.  If he just touched her, something might happen.  He'd had fantasies about Kara, but this was real life.  She might kiss him, then again she might sock him.  He had about a fifty-fifty chance either way.

Dress pieces, a necklace, earrings and other accessories were spread all over both beds.  One thing had paired protuberances and looked like it belonged top-side, others weren't so obvious.  The only genuinely easy items to identify were the red shoes and a pair of stockings.  Lee suggested she start with them.

Holding up one flat, long translucent tube, Kara looked from it to her leg and back.  "Now how in the frak am I supposed to get my leg into that?"

"I can't believe you!  You've never worn stockings?"

Kara shook her head.  "Wasn't that much call for dress-up where I grew up."  She'd never told Lee about her childhood and he'd never intruded.  Some day she would, when she was ready.

Lee had seen his mother pull on stockings any number of times, not to mention girlfriends.  Sticking his thumbs into the silky tube he gathered it up.  It caught a little on the work-roughened skin of his hands.  He knelt beside her.  "Stick your toes in there."

Balancing on one leg with a hand on Lee's shoulder, she did.  Gingerly he rolled the stocking up … and up … and up.

Quickly he pulled his hands away from the soft skin and firm muscles his fingers had found.  His body had begun to react the way he'd expected.  "Uh, maybe you should do the other one for practice."

"Sure, boss man."  Watching Kara pull on the other stocking wasn't much better than doing it himself.

Kara slipped on the high-heeled red shoes.  They made her damned near as tall as him.  She'd need to practice in those a bit; but later, not now.

Lee picked up the thing with the double bumps.  Long, red, and strapless, it hooked up the back.  "I think you have to take off your … " he gestured at her upper body " … and put on this."

Kara took it from Lee's hand and shook her head in disbelief at the cruelty of fashion designers.  "Well, turn around!"

"Oh, yeah, sure."

A piece of Colonial green knit flew past him and landed on his bed.  A moment later he heard, "Lee, I need your help with this damned thing!  I can't get it hooked!"

He turned around to find Kara's bare back.  To his fascination his hands began to shake as he fastened up the five hooks.  She turned around.  The dress may have been made for a bit smaller woman.  The thing, whatever it was called, fit snugly.  Parts of Kara stuck out in the wrong places and the whole thing wasn't arranged quite right.

"Uh, you have to … you gotta …"  With a bent elbow, Lee made pulling up motions with the bent fingers of one hand.

Kara frowned for a moment then her face cleared.  "Oh yeah, sure."  She complied.  Lee's fingers flexed as he watched her.

"What's next?" she asked.

"I don't know.  What do you think?"  He picked up the biggest piece.  "This might be the skirt."

"Yeah, that's gotta be its waistband."  The piece went on quickly and brought Lee some relief.  Kara had begun to look more or less clothed.

"Now we've got all these strappy things.  What do you suppose they are?"  Kara asked, indicating the complicated web of silky red cords, beaded strands and fine gold chain.

Lee pointed to where the strands banded together.  "Well, those have gotta be either for your wrists or your ankles.  I'm going with your wrists."

Kara tugged the web around a little.  "Hey, maybe this is some kind of neck band!"  Together they carefully pulled the web over Kara's head as she stuck her arms up the sleeves.  The neckline band was actually bigger than that.  The whole thing hung just below Kara's bare shoulders.

Kara looked stunning.  Lee had never seen anything quite so fine, except perhaps Kara in just her skivvies.

"Whew!  I think we're going to make it!" she cried.  "All we have left is the jewelry!"

With Lee's help, the red stone earrings and necklace went right on.  When he finished he lightly kissed the back of her neck and stroked the bare shoulders.

Kara laughed and pulled away with a twitch and a stumble in her high-heeled shoes.  "Hey, that tickles, Lee!"

"I'm sorry."  He couldn't take his eyes off her.  He felt a sudden pang of jealousy.  "I'm going to kill him," he said.

Kara was spinning around in the head, trying to see herself in the small mirror.  "Who?  Who ya gonna kill, boss man?"

"Whoever gave that dress to you.  If he touches you, I'll kill him."

Kara laughed.  "Down, boy, down.  Don't worry, Lee.  Whoever it was, I can take care of him myself."  She came out of the head, balancing very carefully.  "Well, how do I look?"

"Like star fire in a bottle.  You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

"You're so sweet."  She picked up her discarded robe.  "I think maybe I'd better put in some practice time on these shoes.  I'll wear the whole rig back to quarters, give 'em an eyeful.  Thanks for your help, Lee.  Really."

"Any time, Kara."  She paused on her way to the hatch and gave him a gentle, sisterly kiss on the lips.  He stood quietly and let her do it.

"Tomorrow," she said.

"Tomorrow," he agreed as she un-dogged the hatch and stepped through.  Lee closed the hatch behind her and went to take another shower.

:j:j:j:j:j:j:j:j:j:j:j:j:j:j:j:

I am a man; nothing human is alien to me.  Terence, Heuton Timoroumenos


	12. Chapter 12

Shadows always fall behind when you look towards the sun.  Enrique Trejo Kobol, Twenty-Third Lord of Kobol

Maya had been worried that the half-meter tall bouquet of cut flowers she held steady would make her sneeze, but its spicy, sweet fragrance actually cleared her sinuses a little.

The man sitting next to her in the shuttle, Commander Spikolart of the Tall Doll, leaned toward her and said, "Want to trade?  Mine doesn't have much odor."  He held mostly greenery.

She shook her head.  "We're fine.  I kinda like them.  They're Taurean orchidians, right?"  She twirled the heavy bundle a little to show Spikolart the showy purple and red fan-shaped blossoms.

"I think so, but I'm no horticulturist.  You'd have to ask Commander Durr.  She'd know from her cargo manifest."  Spikolart nodded at a tall woman standing close to the hatch.  Durr and her date had boarded the shuttle last from the Market Star and brought with them enough cut flowers to stuff the already crowded little shuttle to bursting.  Everyone in the cabin except the pilot and co-pilot held one or two bundles in their arms or rested them on the deck between their legs.

Most of the commanders had brought a thank-you gift for Commander Adama and the crew of the Galactica, but the flowers -- a delivery that had been destined for a Picon florist shop -- were by far the most spectacular.  The Star had been keeping them under refrigeration in her fresh food compartment.

Spikolart had a rolled-up banner signed and decorated by every human being on his ship.  Even the two babes in arms had contributed tiny footprints.  There were several other rolled-up banners on board the shuttle, some made of paper and some from bed sheets, and Maya had also seen three or four bottles of liquors and a few wrapped gifts.

Maya had nothing, but she had a plan.

Turning a little to look behind them – the sight-seeing shuttle had three-hundred sixty degrees of clear windows – Maya searched for the cigar-shaped silver gleam of the Tall Doll.  To aid shuttle navigation and as a sort of party decoration, every ship had their hull floods lit today.  The convoy looked like a flight of odd-shaped silver arrows hurrying towards a target.

Dehan had not protested when Maya had left him an hour ago.  The Tall Doll had ten children aboard, and among them he'd found a little girl who'd attended Connelront Basic Grades on Caprica.  From what Dehan had told Maya, Connelront had been a fierce roller ball rival of his own school.

Yesterday Tall Doll's male spider cat had begun chasing Dehan's female all over the ship, which had kept Dehan occupied all day trying to hunt her down.  He'd recruited all the other kids to help.  Leave it to Dehan.  He had leadership built into his Godden genes.  Maya herself had slept most of yesterday, not getting up until seventeen hundred and only then to take a shower.

Dehan had slipped into the Tall Doll's routine more easily than his aunt.  She kept thinking about her ship and about Chief Husher, both of them about equally.

"You've got a great looking ship, Spike," Maya told the man next to her.  When she'd arrived two days ago, she been asleep so today was her first look.

"Thanks.  She's a good old bird, a retrofitted twenty gunner.  She was my dad's and when I retired from the Colonials, I took her over."

On the other side of Spikolart, his wife bent forward and said, "And he's been playing at being a free trader ever since."  She looked fondly at her husband and after shifting her bouquet of white daisies she managed to kiss him tenderly on the neck.

The kiss made Maya think of Chief Husher.  Would he still be interested in her?  Two days ago their time together had been full of tension and fear, and it had heightened their emotions.  Things would be different when she saw Hush on the Galactica in his everyday routine.  To distract herself she said, "I understand you served with Commander Adama for a while.  What's he like?"

Besides Hush, Maya had the Commander on her mind.  When she'd boarded the shuttle both the pilot and co-pilot had told her that Commander Adama was a great man and that they really liked him.  She'd thought it an odd thing for them to say just out of the blue like that, but she let it go.  Everyone had been praising Adama a lot this past week.

Spikolart looked thoughtful.  "A good man, a bit of a hard ass, but his crew loved him.  I don't think his superiors liked him much, though.  He never slacked off a millimeter about the Cylons.  We practiced war simulations until our dicks dropped off."

Maya laughed.  "Sounds like a right bastard."

"He saved all of us last week.  As far as me and the wife's concerned, he's only one step away from being a sacred Lord."

Maya nodded her head in agreement, and with a deep sigh sucked in more of her bouquet's spicy fragrance.  Looking up ahead, she saw that the Galactica almost filled the bow window like a great bird with its wings extended.  The Star Chaser was in the starboard landing pod and that seemed to be where they were headed.

Maya had received two messages since arriving on the Tall Doll, one from a Chief Tyrol who, if she remembered right, had been one of her rescuers.  He'd said the Star Chaser was ninety percent repaired.  The other had been from Chief Husher.  Maya had that one in her pocket and read it every once in a while.

The shuttle flew into the huge landing bay, right past the Star Chaser's anchored down hull, and landed in a spot outlined in bright yellow, apparently an elevator because the shuttle immediately began to sink.  Although there was little to see, Maya twisted around to watch the Star Chaser as long as she could, until a sliding door closed silently overhead.  Then they stopped for a few minutes as air was pumped into the lock.  With a now audible grinding, the elevator sunk down some more to reveal an open bay with people and tables at one end.

A half hour later the woman who stood ahead of Maya in the waiting line said, "What is with all of this?  I thought we were here for a party!"  The woman's beige uniform had a Trans-Colonial Pathways logo on one shoulder and her hands rested on the shoulders of a slim blonde girl, maybe thirteen, a little older than Dehan, but not much.  The girl and woman didn't look anything alike.  The girl was blonde and pink, the woman reddish brown all over.

"I need to use the bathroom," the girl said.  "Can we make them hurry up?"  She looked cross.

"You went just before we left, Milan.  You begged to come with me.  You can wait," the brown woman said.  "But I do wish we weren't at the end of the line."  She shook her head.  "I guess it's just like on atmosphere liners.  First on, last off."

Seeing saw two familiar faces among the sea of strangers, Maya waved to Apollo and the woman who'd been introduced as Starbuck, two of her erstwhile rescuers.

Apollo nodded an acknowledgement, but began to shout over the bay's din of quiet conversation, his arms waving to attract eyes.  "If I could have your attention?  Please!  Thank you!  Welcome aboard the Galactica everyone!  We want to apologize for this delay, but after the incident with the Star Chaser, we felt some security procedures were in order.  We will scan you and your baggage as quickly as possible, and the gentlemen up here at the table are checking everyone for infectious disease.  Please be patient.  If you have any questions, let me know and I'll do the best I can to answer them.  You're here so we can all get to know each other, so let me introduce myself.  Many of you know me by my call sign Apollo, but my name is Captain Lee Adama, I am the Galactica's Commander Air Group, which means I'm in charge of the Viper and Raptor pilots; and yes, I am related to the Commander.  I'm his son."  He gestured to the woman standing next to him.  "This is Lieutenant Kara Thrace who you've heard talk on the wireless as Starbuck.  We're here to help you find your way around.  After you are processed, please wait by the hatch.  Thank you."

Apollo was the Commander's son?  That's interesting, Maya thought.  She'd had no idea.  To her surprise Apollo and Starbuck came all the way down the line and stopped to talk to her.  "Commander Godden, it's good to see you again."

"Apollo!" Maya said.  She hugged him and Starbuck.  "Trust me, it's my pleasure.  How goes the battle?"

"Slowly, ma'am.  We're taking it day by day."  Apollo smiled when he spoke, and he looked better than the last time she'd seen him, not quite so stressed, and, like all the rest of them, definitely cleaner.

"Have you seen Hush?" she asked.  "Is he here?"

"No, ma'am."  Apollo's smile vanished.  He looked uncomfortable.

"Go on," Starbuck said and pushed Apollo toward Maya with a shove on his shoulder.  "Say it, Lee.  You promised."

Whatever Apollo was supposed to say didn't want to come out.  It looked like it would choke him.  Finally, he said, "Commander Godden, ma'am, I just wanted to say …"  Starbuck's eyes bored into Apollo.  " … I wanted to tell you that my dad is a great man.  A really good guy."

Although puzzled, Maya said, "I'm sure he is, Captain.  Thank you for telling me."

Apollo and Starbuck took their leave and returned to the hatch to exercise some crowd control over the growing group of processed commanders and their dates.  Maya hated to see them go.  The people around her were interesting, but none of them knew Hush.

Eventually the complaining woman ahead of Maya stepped through a spaceport style scanner and sat down at a table, giving Maya her first clear view of the processing.  A man dressed in white ran a clipper up the woman's arm then brushed it into a miniature microwave oven.  The Chaser had one just like it for zapping a single cup.  A second man in white twirled a dial then read off results.  Both of the white coats nodded heads, murmured a few words then the woman stood up and walked away.

The young girl sat down next.  The white coats seemed very concerned about her results.  One of them waved at Apollo and Starbuck who immediately began ushering their crowd out the hatch.  Another white coat led the young girl and her older companion away.

Oh poor girl, Maya thought.  I hope they have a vaccine for whatever she's got.  It made her think of Dehan.

The bay was almost empty now and it was Maya's turn.  As she sat down at the table, one of the white coats asked, "You're Commander Godden from the Star Chaser, aren't you?"

Maya nodded.  How had he known?  She wondered if her problem with Graham was going to make her notorious.

Apparently it was.  "This is her.  This is the one," the first white coat said to his companions as his shaver buzzed up her arm.

The second white coat nodded, and as his little microwave worked, he said, "It's a pleasure to meet you, Commander."  He stuck his hand out for a shake.

White coat number one said, "I just wanted to tell you, Commander Godden, how glad we are that you're alright."

His companion chimed in, "We all admire Commander Adama.  He's a wonderful man."  They both gave her toothy smiles.

Maya felt as though they were trying to sell her something.  Thoroughly confused, she just murmured, "I'm sure."

They told her she could go.  She'd passed their test, whatever it was.  Maya stood up, uncertain what to do next.  A lithe young woman with full lips and soft doe-like eyes offered her an outstretched hand.  "Commander Godden?  I'm Specialist Dualla.  Dee, from CIC?"

Maya took the hand.  "You'll have to forgive me, Dee.  I'm feeling pretty overwhelmed."

"That's okay.  Chief Husher asked me to help you.  If you'll come with me …"

At last some word from Hush!  Maya perked up.

Dualla stood in the pressurized access tunnel just outside the portside hatch of the Star Chaser.  Commander Godden had asked to retrieve something from her ship, a present for the Galactica, she'd said.  She'd insisted and Dualla had learned the strength of Godden's will.

On their short walk over from arrival processing, Godden had admitted that she lacked a party dress.

"I'm here to help with that, ma'am.  The Com … Hush said to do what I can."

"How is he?" Godden had asked with a look of anxiety.  "Will I be seeing him soon?"

"Oh, he's fine.  He has to deal with a problem that just came up.  First we need to put together something for you to wear then there's going to be a presidential reception that you'll want to attend.  I'm sure Hush will be available by then."

The problem keeping the Commander was the Cylon spy they'd just caught.  Dee had watched two Marines carry the young girl down the passageway, kicking and screaming like a banshee.  They'd been lucky none of their guests had seen that happen.  It would have taken a lot of explaining.

"I'm ready."  Godden had returned with a long roll of paper under her arm.

As they walked back through the landing pod's access passageways, they ran into Chief Tyrol and Specialist Cally.

Godden exclaimed, "Oh Chief!  It's good to see you again!  Thank you for all your work on my Star Chaser!"  She gave Tyrol a hug, rattling her roll against his sturdy back.

Tyrol didn't seem to know quite how to respond.  He huffed a few times.  "Actually, it was Cally here that did the work, ma'am."

Godden thanked Cally with a hug too.  The shy little specialist blushed.  She and Godden were about the same height.

"Chief Tyrol, have you seen Chief Husher today?  Is he okay?  How is he?" Godden asked.

Dee almost said something in warning, but Tyrol nicely covered for the Commander.  "Not today, but yesterday.  He was fine, ma'am."

Godden and Dee had taken two steps further down the passageway when Tyrol asked, "Can I ask you something, Commander?"

They both turned back.  "You can ask me anything you want, Chief.  I owe you plenty."

"Why did you ask Chief Husher to go with you to this party?  I mean, you're a commanding officer and he's just a chief.  So I was wondering."  Tyrol seemed miserable, but Cally looked up at her supervisor with a big approving smile on her face.

Godden smiled.  "He's a man, a great man, I think.  Rank has nothing to do with that.  It's artificial and a nuisance.  It has nothing to do with what's inside of either him or me."

"Thank you, ma'am."  Looking thoughtful, Tyrol bobbed his head.  "Also, I just wanted to tell you that I think Commander Adama is one of the best people I know.  Not just a good commander, but a good man."

Godden's eyebrows went up, but all she said was, "It's good to work for someone you respect."

As they climbed stairs up to officer country, Godden asked, "Do you know where they've put Graham and his goons, Dee?"

"I think some of them have gone to the Galactic Queen and some of them are down in sick bay.  You'd better ask Hush when you see him."

"Yes, I will.  What did you say he's doing?"

"I'm sorry, ma'am, I can't tell you.  You need to …"

"… ask Hush when I see him," Godden finished for her.  "Don't worry, I will."

Keeping Commander Adama's identity under wraps was going to be harder than Dee thought.

Today Galactica had its entire complement of Marines, plus a few of the bigger crewmen, busy guarding every possible secure area, all the way from the engines in the aft to the CIC in forward.  Adama acknowledged the salute of the big Marine standing at the hatch to his quarters and asked, "Is she here?"  He trusted everyone on the battlestar knew about Maya by now.

They did.  "Yes, sir.  Specialist Dualla left Commander Godden here about a half hour ago."  The Marine pulled the heavy hatch open.

That long?  Damn, this frakking day had been another mess.  Adama was still shaking in reaction to what had just happened in the brig.  Running late, he'd left in a hurry and he still had long gouts of the girl's blood on his right hand.  Was it too much to expect two good days in a row?

The good news was that the girl lived and the doctors gave her a good prognosis.  She hadn't been able to report back to Cylon home base, at least not yet.  They had yet to find some way to prevent that.  Maybe a field that mimicked Ragnar would work.  Baltar had promised to start on it tomorrow.

Adama had told Tigh and Kelly to go get ready for the party, and now he had to see Maya, to apologize for his deception and then to take whatever she dished out to him, sweet or bitter.  Taking a deep breath, he stepped through the hatch then pulled it shut.

The first thing that caught Adama's eye was the tall bouquet of purple and red orchidians on the table that centered his reception area.  The flowers filled the whole compartment with a sweet spicy scent and the memory of open air.  On a brown-leather couch a length of gauzy white fabric floated like a cloud.

Maya stood in front of Haddenbock's "The Destruction of Scorpolios."  Scorpolios had been the worst human defeat in the first Cylon war.  Adama would never have been able to afford the painting, but Arthur Haddenbock had been a friend and had given it to him as a present saying, "Never forget the bastards.  They sure won't forget us."  Adama hadn't forgotten.  He hung it wherever he berthed, and it had traveled hundreds of light years.  It was going to travel a lot more.

Dee had found Maya something to wear that, in contrast to the painting's dreary browns and blacks, looked like a spring sky.  Loose drapes of glittering, almost transparent blue fabric drifted from her shoulders.  Something opaque underneath protected her modesty.  No couturier, Adama didn't know what to call it other than beautiful.  The flaming red hair had been piled high.  Maya sparkled with life.

Adama moved behind the long, curved leather couch.  She turned and saw him.  A glowing smile lit up her face.  "Hush," she said.  "I've been waiting all day to see you."  She stepped close and tilted up her face to be kissed.

He accommodated lightly, softly, as gently as a sigh.

Life played such cruel tricks, Adama thought.  After all his lonely years bringing him this woman when the whole universe was imploding.  He had to get this over with.  "Maya, I have to tell you …"

"That you're Commander William Adama and not Chief Husher?  Sorry, already know."  She stole another quick kiss then pulled back and looked up into his eyes.

"How?  Who told you?  Dee was supposed to let me."

Maya chuckled, a hearty sound for someone so small.  "Pretty much everyone.  I may be a little blind, but I'm not stupid.  I figured it out eventually, especially after Dee told me to wait for you in here.  All afternoon whenever Dee introduced me to someone, as soon as they heard my name, every single one of them, without exception, including President Roslin I might add, started telling me about the wonderful Commander Adama."

"Oh, oh really?"  Adama hoped he looked as embarrassed as he felt.

"You've got a lot of admirers, Hush.  I should have known a man as wonderful as you would be more than a chief."  She stepped further away.  "Now it's my turn.  I kinda backed you into a corner so if you don't want to go to the party with me, it's okay.  I'll just …"  As Maya spoke her gaze had dropped down until it rested on Adama's bloody hand.  "Holy Lords, what happened?  Are you okay?"  She pulled up his hand to look at it.

"It's not my blood.  I was … we were interrogating a prisoner."  Maya looked at him open-mouthed.  "No, it wasn't like that.  I didn't hit her.  I had this pencil in my hand and she … she ran on it.  Deliberately spitted herself on it.  Just a frakking sharp pencil, damn it!"  That had been less than an hour ago and the memory made Adama start shaking again.  The girl may have been a Cylon, but she had looked like a blonde, sweet child – a child that had tried to commit suicide with him holding the weapon.

Maya stroked Adama's arm.  "I think I saw her, the little girl at the gate.  But why?" she asked softly.  "Why did she do it?  Do you know?"

Struggling to stop shaking, Adama nodded.  He hadn't realized he was so upset or that he could still let it show.  As a Colonial commander, he'd repressed his fears, pains and disappointments for so long that it had become an ingrained habit.  "Cylon spy.  We have humanoid Cylon spies.  When she dies she releases herself to report back."

"Frak, I could have happily gone the rest of my life without knowing that.  Oh Hush, and I thought my problems on the Star Chaser were so serious."  Maya hugged him close.

Adama's chuckle came out as a sort of croak.  "They were significant, let me tell you."  Now was the time to warn her.  "Maya, you can't tell anyone about me being on the Star Chaser.  A lot of my crew have heard rumors and I'm sure it'll get out to the rest of the fleet.  But even if someone asks, you can't admit anything, ever."

"I know."  The agreement was quiet, almost whispered.

"And you can't tell anyone about the humanoid Cylon spies.  No one."

The arms around Adama tightened.  Maya was frightened.  He could feel it through his skin.  "I won't."  They stood like that for a minute, her breathing uneven.

"I'm sorry," he said.  "I shouldn't have told you.  Only a few people know."

Maya looked up.  "And here I thought you were tied to a boring desk job, counting bullets or something."  Her eyes were wide but her voice was steady.

"I wish."  Adama looked down into those amazing blue eyes.  If he didn't look away, he'd kiss her, and if he kissed her, this time he wouldn't stop.  He took a deep, aching breath.  "Hey, I have to shower up and put on my dress uniform.  One does not keep the President of the Colonies waiting."  He moved back.

An impish gleam came into Maya's eye.  "Can I help?"

:w:w:w:w:w:w:w:w:w:w:w:w:w:w:w:w:w:w:w:w:w:w:

Music heard so deeply  
That it is not heard at all, but you are the music  
While the music lasts.  
Thomas Stearns Eliot, Four Quartets--The Dry Salvages


	13. Chapter 13

Celebrate life.  Death comes for you soon enough.  King Bradley Kobol, Twenty-seventh Lord of Kobol.

"Where should I put this one, Chief Brendan?"  At Jennifer's elbow, one of Deuch's crewman -- he called them his galley slaves -- held up a thank-you banner from the five or so that remained on the nearest banquet table.  With less than a half hour to go, Jennifer's crew hadn't finished decorating Hangar C.  Chief Deuch had lent her as many warm bodies as he could, but Deuch was in a serious time crunch too.

"Anywhere you can find a space."  She turned to look down the long, table-filled bay, trying to see the far side of the dance floor.  "How about down there?  Looks like there's a hole."

"That's the starboard hatch."

"Oh well, just try to find a space.  Even up on the podium's fine, if you can find room behind the twelve flags."

If two weeks ago someone had told Jennifer she'd be setting up a presidential banquet, she would have laughed until she cried.  Since then she'd been doing a lot of crying, and not about banquets.  The Galactica was all she had left in the universe.

Deuch had the menu under control.  Their showpiece, a whole spitted steer from the farmer folks on the Gravity Well would be rolled in soon, but they would be short on greens and vegetables.  For dessert Deuch had made white cake with Picon moonfruit sauce from Galactica's stores.  An auto-bar from Colonial One stood just inside the port hatch, and Jennifer and Deuch had figured out that there'd be three drinks a person before it went dry, that is, if all one hundred and thirty partygoers showed up and everyone drank.  There were sure to be a few teetotalers in the crowd to balance out the lushes like Colonel Tigh.

It had been the unexpected gifts that had slowed Jennifer down.  All the wrapped presents were arranged on a table, and the alcohol had been loaded in the auto-bar.  But the three people she'd detailed to hang up banners had been at it all afternoon.  As for the flowers, it had taken Jennifer an hour just to run down enough suitable containers, not to mention filling them with water and making the arrangements.  It had been worth it.  The flowers had turned Hangar C into a banquet hall, their scent evoking the lost colonies and their petals hope for tomorrow.

There would be a tomorrow.  Commander Adama had promised them that.  Jennifer walked down the bulkhead until she reached the smallest banner.  Contributed by the Star Chaser, it had been hung behind the table of presents.  The blown-up photograph of a scratched and dented piece of space flotsam had a legend and explanation lettered in at the bottom.  Like all the rest of the workers in Hangar C, Jennifer had drifted over several times just to look at it.

Earth, they were going to Earth, and the Cylons would never find them there.

Captain Kelly stood in the shower for five minutes letting the warm water wash through his close-cropped hair and bounce off his beefy shoulders.  His mind played over and over again the interrogation, the girl's sudden movement and Commander Adama's shocked reaction.  Kelly blamed himself.  He'd been there to prevent it and he hadn't done his job.  He always did his job.

Kelly had a placid, even temperament that sometimes bent but never broke, and although his official title was Landing Deck Officer, he pulled a lot of dirty jobs, everything from mortician to military police.  He did whatever he was asked to do and trusted the rest to Commander Adama and the Holy Lords.

Stepping out of the shower and quickly drying off, Kelly spent far less time putting on his dress uniform, even though he and Lee Adama kept getting in each other's way.  Their shared compartment was too small for two men in a hurry.  Kelly nearly punched his roommate twice, and that wouldn't have made Lee look too good for that date with Starbuck.

Starbuck going on a date, and with the CAG no less, now who would have believed that just two weeks ago?  Not to mention escorting Sharon Valerii himself.  Downright weird.  Everything was weird anymore.  Kelly was supposed to be on Sagittarius this week in the middle of a three-week furlough.  He'd planned to go skiing.  He'd never been skiing.

"Why don't you call it?" Lee suggested.  He had Kelly's gold twenty-cubit piece resting on top of a cocked thumb.  "Faces or waves?"

"Faces," Kelly said.  Everyone chooses faces.  Why be different?

Lee flipped the coin, snatched it out of the air and slapped it down on his other hand.  "Sorry, old man, waves."  He clapped Kelly on a thick arm.  "Better luck next time.  You have a place to bunk tonight?"

"Sure, plenty of empty spots in pilots' quarters.  May the Lords protect you though.  Starbuck's more than I could handle."

Lee laughed.  "I'll be saying my prayers.  Next time the place is yours."

Kelly turned from adjusting the belt across his chest.  "I should be so lucky.  Sharon's got that Boxey kid and she's so hung up on Tyrol, he's all she ever talks about.  I probably won't even make first base.  But she asked me, so I just figured what the heck, why not?  It's the end of the world, anything goes."

Lee looked at him.  "Yeah, right, anything goes."  He didn't seem too sure, and Kelly didn't really believe it either.  After pulling open their hatch, with a flourish Lee invited Kelly through.

It had been an experience, parading into the party on Hush's arm like they were some grand review, then there'd been the receiving line and shaking hands with more than a hundred total strangers.

And the flowers -- the flowers from the shuttle were everywhere.  The bare utilitarian hangar had been turned into a garden.

"It's all pomp and circumstance," Hush had said.  "Don't let it go to your head."  She'd tried, but standing next to Hush, Maya was only four places down from the head of the line -- President Roslin and her date, a distinguished-looking heavy-set bureaucrat, then Hush then her.  Even the Galactica's executive officer Colonel Tigh and his date Mother Elosha were below, not to mention the famous Doctor Baltar and a whole load of government officials.  Heady stuff for a girl who two weeks ago had been pinching every cubit and struggling to make ends meet.

Quite a few people had asked as they shook Maya's hand about the picture she'd contributed, hanging over on the bulkhead.  She'd told them briefly about Garner Graham and his obsession.  "We spent two months looking for that thing, but it drove the poor man crazy in the end."

Most had gone on to say, "But you have the whole piece on your ship now?  I'd like to see it sometime."

"I'm going to unload it on the Galactica," she'd told each one of them.  "Maybe the Commander will set up an exhibit."

The reception line party had moved to the raised head table and sat down in front of a hundred pairs of watching eyes.  While the food had been served, Maya had heard Hush and the President in a low-voiced argument.  Well, actually, it hadn't been all that low because the compartment's hard walls made the crowd noise reverberate into a dull roar.

"I talked to the Tall Doll's commander," Hush had said.  "He's going to think about it."

"Just remember, Commander, only volunteers.  I will not authorize conscripting."

Hush had looked pissed.  When Maya had asked him, he'd said, "We need a gunship, an FTL-capable gunship.  The Vipers don't jump and the Raptors have minimal armament.  We need something to protect our foragers."

"Oh.  And you want a twenty?"  The Tall Doll twenty-gunner was more than twice as big as the Star Chaser twelve.

"I'll take whatever I can get.  We only have three spare cannons."  Hush had jerked his chin in the direction of a portly man at a nearby table.  "Smith's tanker doesn't have gun platforms and I don't think he's got a gunship attitude either.  In an attack he'd think first and shoot later.  I need someone a little more quick-tempered."  He'd smiled at her.  "Like you."  Then right up there on the platform in front of the President and everybody he'd given her a quick kiss.  A girl could get used to that.

"Just show me the trigger," she'd said.  He'd laughed.

Maya hadn't known tomorrow, but she'd known tonight, and at that moment, she had realized what she would do.

After a while when the good food was all eaten and the dirty dishes went away, President Roslin had handed out medals to those who'd conducted the refugee convoy to Ragnar -- Apollo, Boomer and a few others.  With great ceremony she'd awarded the Colonies' highest military honor, the Circle of Twelve, to the Galactica as a whole, and Hush had accepted it.  During the thunderous clapping he'd looked pleased and proud.  After that, the President had made a long speech about the future, government, laws and peace.

Then Hush had squeezed Maya's hand, put on his glasses, and stepped up to the podium to talk about war.

He was still talking about it now.  "While we are on our way to Earth, your ships will be our real estate, the lives you carry our future.  But the Galactica can't protect you all alone.  We need you as much as you need us."  He took off his glasses to look out into the crowd.  "We are looking for a ship willing to put on Colonial colors and carry Colonial guns."

That was Maya's opening.  She stood up at her dining table and shouted so everyone could hear, "If one's all you want, you can have my Star Chaser.  She's an old twelve-gunner and I think she'd love to chase Cylons."

Instantly, out in the crowd a man stood and shouted, "How about two ships?  My twenty wants some tin-heads!"

Further away a woman was on her feet.  "Three's a good number!  My twelve's hot for some target practice!"  There were more.

Hush's hands gripped the podium.  He looked stunned.  In a husky voice he whispered into the microphone, "Thank you.  If you could come forward, I'd like to meet with you all for a few minutes and get your names and ships."

Picking up his papers, he returned to Maya's side.  He whispered for her ears only, "If you do something like that again without warning me, I'll have you thrown in the brig."

Ooh, a dare.  Maya was up for that.  "You can't make that stick unless I'm a Colonial."

"You don't think I so?  Watch me."  Hush wasn't smiling.

This relationship was going to present some interesting challenges.  Hush hadn't become a battlestar commander with his sweet personality.  "Don't worry, I'll be watching you all the time.  Now, you said something about a meeting?"

"Aren't they just adorable?" Kara whispered in Lee's ear.

"I'm not sure 'adorable' is the word I'd use," Lee answered more loudly.  His father and Commander Godden – Maya, he reminded himself – were leading off the first dance on the empty expanse of deck designated as the dance floor.

On the far side of the floor, the famous Geminon chanteuse Frothel Edelman sang a dreamy a cappella version of the old standard "Forever Loving You."  Frothel had been on the Sunrise Edition traveling to a Caprica City gig.  Like everyone else, she was grateful to be alive even though her fame meant nothing anymore.  To be idolized by billions means nothing when the billions are dead.

Somehow one of Tyrol's crew had rigged Hangar C with spotlights and figured a way to dim the overheads, but the spots weren't really needed.  Everyone's eyes followed Commander Adama and Maya around the floor until a few couples joined them, breaking the spell.  "Striking maybe," Lee finally admitted.

"They're in love.  Look at 'em.  They can't take their eyes off each other."  Kara sighed, put down her drink and leaned her head on Lee's shoulder, for her an unusually demonstrative gesture.

The small medal and ribbon the President had pinned on Lee an hour ago shifted from Kara's motion and threatened to fall off.  He'd been embarrassed about the medal.  Everyone in this compartment deserved a medal, for that matter everyone on all fifty ships.  When so many had died, being alive qualified as an act of heroism.  Moreover, President Roslin hadn't given his father an admiral's double rocket.  He liked Laura Roslin, but he didn't like the political one-upmanship games she played.

Lee willed himself not to think about politics anymore.  This was a party.  Gently he kissed Kara's forehead and she didn't pull away.  He could get used to this affectionate version of his usually forbiddingly tough friend.  Perhaps she felt the same as he did tonight -- that life was short and only apt to get shorter.  "You're sure they're in love, are you?  Could be lust."

Kara raised her head to look at him, and gently punched his arm to remonstrate.  Aha! That was more like the Kara he knew and loved.  "Lee!  That's your father we're talking about!"

"You don't think he's a man?"  Actually, Lee hadn't seen his father so affectionate with a woman in years.  There'd been women friends before, but not for a very long time.  It felt odd to watch him now, and it made Lee ache for his dead mother.

With a mental jerk, Lee once again pulled himself back to party mode.

Kara had been acting very strangely since Lee had picked her up at her quarters.  She'd quietly taken the arm he'd offered and held it, walking grandly down the passageway like it was Caprica City's Canal Boulevard on the day of the Spring Solstice Parade.  Totally un-Kara-like.  Must be the dress.  Every few minutes someone came over to tell her how stunning she looked.  She preened in pleasure each time.  She'd had an extra drink or two besides, but that wasn't beyond her capacity.  Once he and Kara had polished off a whole bottle of ambrosia between them and played a game of handball afterwards.  Of course, that had been almost five years ago.  So long?  Time moves fast and then everything is gone.

Kara really did look wonderful.  Although Lee had already told her that several times, once more wouldn't hurt.  "You are so beautiful tonight."  He was rewarded with a squeeze on his arm and a quick peck on his cheek.  He resisted the temptation to kiss her lips.  One step at a time was the best way to go.

Kell had suggested they flip for the compartment tonight.  Winning the toss hadn't really mattered to Lee, but he and Kara would have privacy if they chose to use it.  There was no reason for the whole ship to know the intimate details of their relationship … or lack thereof.  Lee still hadn't told Kara how he felt.

There had always been a lot of issues between Kara and Lee -- her fighting and fondness for breaking the rules, Lee's own command ambitions, everything his father the Commander said and did, and her dead fiancé Zak who'd been Lee's brother.  But everything had changed.  Whatever used to be -- all of it had been left behind and burned up on Caprica.  Lee wasn't going to let anything stand in his and Kara's way again, not now, not after the end of the world.

There seemed to be a lot of that sentiment going around.  Out on the dance floor and in dark corners all over the compartment men and women clung to each other, hugging and kissing.  There were going to be a lot of new babies in nine months.

"And who is this?"  Lee had seen Colonel Tigh with Mother Elosha on his arm circling the dance floor looking for a place to sit, but he hadn't realized they'd come so close.

Kara stood up.  "Good evening, sir."  Her rigid and overly correct stance added a silent, _You asshole, sir._  Lee stayed where he was sitting at the table.  It was a frakking party after all, and he still hadn't forgiven Tigh for commandeering the Viper during his father's rescue.  Lee acknowledged the Colonel with a nod.

Tigh gave Kara a quick up and down scan and his eyes went wide.  Looking at the woman on his arm, he said, "Elosha, tell me that you didn't …"  The good mother's concerned answering gaze spoke volumes.  "You did.  I see."

Lee had a bad feeling.  If Colonel Tigh were the source of Kara's mysterious dress, she'd be stripping herself naked in a minute or two.  He'd better drop some sensor decoys to distract her.  Standing up behind Kara, he put his hands on her shoulders and whispered in her ear, "Would you like to dance?"

Kara turned her head slightly to look at him.  A deep frown had replaced her sweet smile.  "Maybe.  In a few minutes."  Her eyes immediately snapped back to Colonel Tigh, like a cat watching an intruding dog or a Viper pilot watching a Cylon raider.

But Colonel Tigh hadn't been preparing an attack.  Mother Elosha was whispering to him.  He nodded and sighed.  Looking at the Mother he said, "If that's what you want, of course."  He turned back to Kara, drew himself up into a very formal, upright posture and said, "Lieutenant Thrace, I'm sure you've heard this many times already, but you are very beautiful tonight."

"Thank you, sir."  That confused Kara.  She softened her stance, and one of her hands swept across the beaded top of her evening dress.  "Isn't it just gorgeous?"

"Not as lovely as you, Lieutenant."

Mother Elosha smiled approval up at her tall escort.  "You know, Paul, I haven't seen your quarters yet."

That brought a surprised, pleased grin to Tigh's face.  "I'd be happy to show you.  This way."  He waved an arm in invitation, and they strolled off in the direction of the hatch, their eyes only for each other.

"Whoa, did you see that?" Kara exclaimed as she turned back to Lee.  "The lucky son!  A Kobol priest, I can't believe it!  Some people have all the luck."

Lee hoped his face didn't reveal his relief.  That had been a narrow escape.  "Yes, he is.  But he's not as lucky as I am."  Their eyes locked together for a long moment.

"You're lucky?  Why?"  Kara's eyes searched Lee's, looking for something: passion, love, reassurance -- one of those or all of them.

"I'm here with the most beautiful woman in the room, and …" he stepped closer because the truth was only for Kara to hear "… I love her."  He waited breathlessly for what she'd say.

The other women pilots had warned Kara.  They'd told her that the designer dress would dazzle every male at the party and they'd be all over her.  She only cared about one, Lee Adama.  That's why she'd asked for his help figuring out how to put it on.  She'd wanted to be perfect for him tonight, a fabulously beautiful decoration on his arm because that's what Lee needed tonight -- an ornament, not a buddy.  He needed to look good.

Unlike Zak, Lee had always had high hopes for his military career, to somehow and in some way outshine his father.  He would have made it too.  Lee had what it takes -- intelligence, talent and daring.  The Cylons had destroyed any likelihood of a stellar military career, but Lee still deserved to succeed.  He was still one of their best and brightest, and Kara wanted to help.

For one hellish day two weeks ago she'd thought him dead, now she couldn't imagine a future that didn't have Lee in it.  She didn't want to.  If she could do nothing else, she'd keep Lee alive.  She'd lost Zak, but she wasn't going to lose Lee.  She'd rather die herself.  When the Galactica had recalled the Vipers at Ragnar, she'd stayed behind to protect his disabled ship and hadn't returned until she found a way to bring him home too.

All of them needed a reason to live, Lee was Kara's.

And now Lee was standing so close to her that she could feel his body heat.  His eyes held on to hers.  She couldn't look away.  She'd heard the "I love you" words before.  Zak, of course, and any number of ill-informed and ambitious lotharios.

But this time it had been Lee.  He loved her.  The words seemed to hang in the air for her to capture like a butterfly and hold in her heart.

Did he mean it?  Would it matter if he didn't?

Kara tried to breathe, it took a lot of work.  She tried to think, nothing came.  She opened her mouth to speak, not even sure herself of what would come out.

Kelly watched Starbuck and Lee Adama on the dance floor.  They danced like they flew together, as one -- two halves knitted into one seamless whole.  As Landing Deck Officer, Kelly saw them fly like that almost every day.  Lee would be using their quarters tonight, Kelly was sure of that.  Lee and Kara held each other so close they made a single profile.

Sharon stirred restlessly at his side.  "Did you want to dance after all?" Kelly asked.  He'd almost given up on her.  A few minutes ago, when almost everyone arose to dance, Sharon had seen Tyrol with Specialist Cally sitting a few tables away talking earnestly, heads bent together, faces more than a little tight.  Ever since she'd been watching them like a zenora hawk watches chickens.

Kelly had grown up on a far Canceron cattle ranch and images like that came to him all the time, but even so there was something of the hawk about Sharon, some hidden tension always threatening to break out.  Could be from flying that Raptor or from something more private.  When she'd lost Helo and picked up the Boxey kid and Doctor Baltar, Sharon had seen the destruction of Caprica up close and personal.  Yesterday Kelly had seen her scream at a technician one minute and burst out crying the next.  Her emotions soared and plunged like a bird flying an unstable updraft.  It was probably the reason why she and Tyrol were on the outs.

Sharon ignored his question and said, "You know, Kell, I think I'll just go ask Rollie why he's here.  I'll be right back."

Yeah, sure, Kelly thought, so much for my date.

Sharon stood up and moved away, her black dress and high-piled dark hair standing out among the gray and blue uniforms and bright-colored party wear.  Oh yeah, a hawk.  Kelly wondered which way she'd strike.  Not wanting to watch the bloodshed, he arose and went to the auto-bar.  Kelly had already seen enough bleeding today.

"Chief, I think you should go talk to her," Cally said for the third time.

"Would you stop calling me chief, Cal?  This is a party and we're off duty.  Call me Tyrol or Rollie, okay?"  Tyrol eyes wanted to stray in Sharon's direction, but he kept them on Cally.  With make-up and curled hair, she didn't look like the same mousy specialist.

"Yes, sir.  But you still have to talk to her."  Tyrol sighed.  Maybe they should try to dance, not that he was much good at dancing.  Coming to this party had been a mistake.  Raising his eyes again, he saw Cally looking past his shoulder, a pleased and surprised expression on her face.  Sharon must be behind him.  Tyrol could almost feel her nearness.

He was right.  Sharon was close.  "Cally, Rollie, fancy meeting you here."  Her voice was hard for Tyrol to interpret.  Choked and tight, she sounded strangled.

Cally nodded and smiled a greeting.  Tyrol turned to look.  As always, Sharon took his breath away, but he found it in time to speak.  "Commander Adama invited me."  He stuck out his chin.  "Sir."

Oblivious to Tyrol and Sharon's tense byplay, Cally popped up, her fluffy skirt ballooning out with the sudden movement.  "I'm going to get another drink.  Anyone else want one?"  Tyrol simply stared at her.  Sharon shook her head.  Cally bounced away to the long line at the auto-bar.  She'd be there awhile which is probably what she intended.

Not waiting for an invitation to sit, Sharon scooted a chair close to Tyrol and  her proximity tingled his skin.  "Haven't seen much of you for a few days, Rollie."  Sharon looked on edge, unsure of herself.  Tyrol identified the note in her voice -- it was controlled fear.  He clenched his hands in his lap.

"I've been busy, sir."

"Are you well?"  Her hand reached out and two of her fingers touched his thumb.  "You look sick."

Frozen by his conflicted feelings -- the yearning to touch Sharon one more time fighting the fear of renewed pain -- Tyrol didn't move away and the hand stayed on his.  The tenuous connection burned like fire.  "What do you want, Sharon?  I thought you were here with Kelly."

Sharon was silent for a minute then she said, "Let's dance," and nodded toward the crowded dance floor.  Gaither, one of Tyrol's more inventive electricians, had rigged a sparkling random lighting effect that played over the dancers.  Frothel was singing another slow song, something about starlight through the porthole and love in the heart.

"You know I don't dance."

"Would you try, for me?"

I'd do anything for you, just ask me, Tyrol thought, but he only stood up and offered her his arm.  He hadn't danced in years, and out on the dance floor he felt out of place, like a misaligned Viper part.  The couples around them held each other so very close.  Tyrol put his arms around Sharon and tried not to do the same, but it was hard not to pull her to him.  Feeling her eyes on his face, he tried to look somewhere else, but there wasn't much to see around them except people in love with one another.

Sharon spoke softly as they moved.  "Rollie, I wanted to tell you how sorry I am.  I'm sorry that I made a mistake.  And I'm sorry that I hurt you."

Tyrol pulled her closer.

"You were the most wonderful man in the universe and I was so lucky."

Sharon was talking about them in the past tense.  That hurt.  But when she was so warm and close to him, she was irresistible.  Pulling her closer still, Tyrol could hear her rapid breathing.  "I'm sorry too," he murmured in her ear, his lips brushing her skin almost like a kiss.  "I miss you like hell."  They danced for a few minutes, her closeness bringing back the familiar ache.  He might as well tell her.  She'd eventually hear about it anyway.  "The Commander's offered me a commission, but without you, it's nothing.  I'm going to tell him no."

Sharon stopped dancing and pulled back.  She looked angry.  "Oh no, you're not!  You do have me.  You'll always have me.  I'm not that easy to get rid of."

For a long second Tyrol's heart stopped beating.  He gave it a kick-start with a deep, shaking breath.  He and Sharon were going to make it after all.  Tyrol felt like fluff and in danger of floating away.  Only Sharon held him to the deck so he wrapped his arms around her and held on for dear life.

"Hey, the dance floor is for dancers.  You wanna make out, go find yourself a room."  One of the other dancing couples had run into Tyrol from behind, making him and Sharon both stagger.  With an embarrassed apology, Tyrol pulled Sharon off the dance floor.

Sharon wore a beaming smile like a halogen lamp.  She said, "You just have to promise me one thing:  If I hurt you again, you shoot me.  Okay?"

"Shoot you?  No way."  Putting an arm around Sharon's shoulders, Tyrol pulled her close enough to kiss.

"Promise me or the deal's off, Rollie."  Her lips were millimeters away from his.  That's my Sharon, Tyrol thought, always picking an argument, trying to get her own way, but why not promise?  He'd never actually have to do it.

"You got it, babe," he breathed.  Their lips met and he said no more.

"You are the luckiest son of a bitch in the universe, Hush.  Maybe I should just rub your arm and see if I can get some of it to come off on me."  Adama looked at President Roslin in surprise.  That had been an odd thing for her to say.  He and Maya had been touring the bulkheads looking at the thank-you banners and scaring lovers out of dark corners when they'd met Madam President and Jerry Whatever-His-Name-Was standing by the table of presents.  She was leaning on the arm of her companion and admiring one of the smaller hangings.

The President glowed tonight, probably from a combination of skillful make-up and the excitement of the evening.  It was, after all, her first real opportunity to meet her citizenry.  But she'll pay tomorrow, Adama thought.  The cancer will come back re-doubled and she'll feel like hell.  He put an arm around Maya's shoulders and drew her close.  Human life is so fragile.  Maya looked up at him and smiled encouragingly, almost as if she could read his mind.

Billy Keikeya and Dualla had opened all the presents right before the party had begun, and the contents were displayed for everyone to appreciate -- an intricate wood carving of the Galactica, a large handful of priceless iridescent Phoenix feathers from Leonid, several paintings and drawings including two Adama recognized from museum exhibitions, and money, lots of money.  It looked like hundreds of thousands of cubits.

However, Adama didn't think Madame President was referring to any of that.  Maybe she'd been referring to Maya.  If so, he'd have to agree with her, but he asked, "What do you mean, Laura?"

President Roslin wasn't looking at him, she was looking at Maya.  "No wonder G.G. was so desperate to get back to the Colonies.  The picture's legend says he found only the one scrap, with no other pieces around.  Is that right?"

Maya nodded.  "In the middle of the outer asteroid belt between Caprica and Geminon.  Graham had been tracking asteroid miner legends about an ancient wreck.  There were probably more hunks of it, but once we found this one, it was enough for him."  She looked up at Adama.  "After your first broadcast, when you told us that we were going to Earth, Graham just began to fall apart.  He couldn't stand it that someone had actually known about Earth all along."

Adama did not like feeling on the outside of a conversation.  "Would you two care to tell me what you're talking about?"

President Roslin smiled at him.  "You haven't seen it, Hush?"

"Seen what?"  That had come out sharper than he'd intended.

"What Maya has in Star Chaser's hold.  There's a picture of it over there.  You should go look.  I think you'll, uh, really enjoy it."  President Roslin nodded toward the small banner on the bulkhead.  She was smiling broadly, grinning really.

"Come on, I'll show you," Maya said tugging his hand.  "Over here."

Doctor Baltar and Lieutenant Gaeta were standing together in front of the picture.  They moved aside so Adama and Maya could see too.  The large picture showed a piece of space flotsam with some faded and scratched Colonial block lettering.  Adama pulled out his glasses and slipped them on.  He had to study it a moment before the picture came into focus.  There were three lines.

From the first line he slowly spelled out, K, O, B, A.  The next several letters had been made illegible by a long gouge, probably an asteroid impact.  Then there was an M, two more illegible letters, I, N, and what might be a G.  "Kobal Mining?" he ventured.

Maya nodded.  "That's what Doctor Rainier thought.  He said that some of the most ancient legends talk about the first Lords being miners."  Adama smiled at her.  When she turned back to look at the picture, he wrapped his arms around Maya's shoulders and pulled her against his chest.  Lords, it was good to have someone to hold on to.

He read the next line, which was only a string of numbers, 8, 1, 3, 5, 5, 8, and maybe some more, but a large hole had ripped them away forever.  "Her registry."  Maya's head brushed another nod against his chest.

The third line was in smaller letters.  The first letter was mostly illegible except for an upside-down bowl shape at the top, possibly a B, P, R or even an O or Q.  Then more clearly but still badly scratched, L, A, N, a completely scratched away letter, then a T, either some space or a missing letter, E, A, a missing letter, a T, and finally an H.

Adama's arms squeezed Maya's shoulders until she moaned a protest.  "Oh sweet Lords," he said.  "Planet Earth."

  


And with that, I am sad to say the dating service has closed up shop.


End file.
